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April 28, 2015
This here is my heart, these here are my hands, this here is my life, and you're the only person who will ever get to know them the way that you will. We are in Manila, walking along a cobblestone path, and a brown heavy gate appears. We pour in and a courtyard with the pinkest bougainvilleas welcome us. There are speakers overhead emanating a scratchy sound, like a vinyl record that's about to play but couldn't. We walk around and look at each other every now and again, as if saying, "this is nice, I will not forget today."