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February 21, 2012

The Wanderer

There was a moment of silence after his phone had finished buzzing on the table, an angry chattering jarring, demanding attention. Demanding his time, demanding that he leave and go back to real things.

He scooped it up and put it into his pocket, looking over her head, looking at nothing in particular, looking at everything but her.

She wanted to seize his face, press it between her palms, make him look at her. Really look at her, for once, the way he never did, the way she’d always wanted him to. She wanted to tell him to not walk out that door, to stay with her for this summer, but for once, words failed her. There were no words good enough to ask him to stay and her pride would not let her speak, even if she could have. It was written all over her face, but he wouldn’t…

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