Apr. 20th, 2014

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Whenever I couldn't lift my hand it was her pressing down on it. When I could have but didn't it was on her whispered advice. Whatever I've achieved I've done by pushing past her.

I had a friend once that I'd talk about this with. He had an abstracted look whenever I did and when he replied never revisited precisely what I'd said, never mentioned her name, but nevertheless what he did say subtly betrayed that he'd heard and understood. He had his own way of seeing things, seemed at times to be translating what I'd communicated into incomprehensible-sounding phenomena in some structure of these of his own. I forget the details, something about us all being pirates but mostly raiding our own store. Whenever I tried to listen close I'd feel her dark mouth at my ear breathing sea things, her naked kneecaps twisting on my thighs. He at last left town sans explanation. I'm not sure he'd seen us as friends.

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