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February 12, 2014
Rock. You are a rock. Not because of your stone heart or rocky abs, but because of your inability to say what you think. Or anything else other than standard replies.

Rock. You are a rock. You can beat scissors ten out of ten times, but paper always wins over you. Paper. With the scribbles of a love confession all over it. You couldn't make words out of sounds, so you just made them with your silent hands.

Rock. You are a rock. Not a rock on her finger. Just a stone in her kidney. A thorn of a memory.