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  • With you, darling, things move quickly. Even when I take time to check my feet, and I have, things are moving quickly. Of course, that’s by choice, if not by design. We control the brake switch, right? I mean, should I have asked that? I don’t tend to hit the brakes. I just fly until I crash.

    So it’s Sunday, so it’s nice out, so we strap on some shoes and climb a small hill. I run up this thing in the summer; I run down it, too. I rarely take my time with things, I know. I mean, look at us. Thank the fucken lord that you don’t mind.

    But here, we’re walking, we’re trudging along in the ice and mud, glove and mitten trying to find a way to stay connected.

    Here, we walk to the bench at the top, where there’s a clearing. We’re looking towards the Green Mountains. You find Mount Abe and ask me what tree we’re looking at. I don’t know the answer.

    You in shades of orange, me in green and gray and black. We’re muddy by the end of it. By the end of it, we’re back on pavement, back at my place. At the end of the day, we’ll know we’re leaving here. Things move quickly with you, darling.

    The lease should get here this week. I ask you every day, and every day you say that yes, this is what you want.
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