She loved them long, wrapped in arms, at the edge of places you wait for endings and beginnings to end and begin: the top of airport escalators, while planes roared to takeoffs and landings, under signs where buses hissed startings and stoppings, and in dreams, weaved through sleep and waking.
Commuter train stations. In front of my house, in your car, every time you drop me home. Over the phone conversations, when neither of us wants to say it first.
Reblogged from Fifty Words.
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