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in the common room, rainy Saturday, 1985

blue moon the first sight of your tattoo


We’re sixteen, the three of us, and we firmly believe that someone will make a movie about us someday, because we’re extraordinary. We don’t realize yet how extraordinary it is to be extraordinary, or, maybe, more optimistically, how ordinary it is to be extraordinary. We know, at least, that it’s only as a unit we’re extraordinary. When we hug each other it’s like when your shadow disappears into the other shadows. Are any of us real? Even long after we stop talking about this question, we keep thinking about it.

blue moon the first sight of your tattoo

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prose: here, now. haiku: Notes from the Gean 2.3

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