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  • We met at work, and we spoke on a bus.
    She told me stories of her summer, of her life and we laughed.
    Just a girl at work, nothing more.

    Then we drank.
    We danced.
    Our strange sense of making the moment ours seemed to happen before we were even together.
    It was 3am. We kissed.

    She pulled away and told me she had a boyfriend.

    Month's went by. I spent every moment I could spare finding a reason to be with her.
    Grey rainy Wednesday's spent in the library, with books open but pens still in bags, whispering, teasing, flirting.
    We got drunk just so she had a faked excuse to kiss me.
    She told me about him. About how he made her feel.

    I didn't want her to feel like that. I wanted to make her smile.
    She made me smile. She still does.

    It hurt knowing she was still with him. It still feels like someone is gutting me out when I think about it.
    But she was too kind to break up with him before.
    I like to think I was her reason for actually doing it, but that's not for me to say. I'm sure there were many.

    And now it was me, and her. Nobody else.

    Here we are, nearly 2 years later. There are bits in between, but I didn't want to tell them all right now.
    I just wanted to write about our first and most important trip,
    to the moon.
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