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Things that I know, things that I don’t. The hole in the ground, the birds on their nest, a child running down the alley; holding a red balloon. All the funny things in between, your eyes, your smile, your lips, your hands over mine. Things that mean nothing to them, and things that mean everything to you and me.

 Things that matter, and things that don’t. The smell of the grass swaying to the kiss of the wind, the sound of the cars honking around trying to beat this thing called traffic. A dog chasing a cat down the alley where the child with the red balloon was running. My eyes on yours, my erratic breathing, my sweaty hands nervously fidgeting yours.

The cat hissed, the dog yelped, the child cried, and up in the sky the red balloon went flying. Sprinkles of fantasy rewarded with a slap from reality. There’s you, and then there’s me. Sitting a table away from each other, you reading a book, and me getting lost in my fantasies.

Of love, and of you, and of me, and of all the funny things in between.

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