Friday, March 02, 2007 · posted at 4:10 PM Booty Nomad
Something seemed off about her description of her love. I didn't seem to be involved. She loved the way I treated her and the way my loving her made her feel. But did she love me? Not the me who listened or shopped or was nice to her dog, but the me who watched baseball games and loved to read and knew obscure Monty Python quotes by heart. The me who wished he could play guitar and wanted to write and cried at wussy French films. The me who existed whether she was there to see it or not.
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