835 5 4
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I try to mentally reconstruct the events, but my memory of that day and many of the days and months afterwards are like disconnected scenes in a movie I saw once, years ago, while intoxicated. I want to get the minutiae right.
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19733
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The thing in the bed trying to see over the enormity of the loud and chuckling wife to the face of the Dad wasn’t real. It wasn’t You because You weren’t alive. You were neither the woman you’ve finally, impossibly become, nor the dead girl on the highway
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