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July 2, 2015
It was in Burnham Park when you first held out your hand. There were two seconds when I didn't know what it meant, but then I took it and we walked to Session Road hand in hand, a smile on my face. I remember most of the firsts and lasts, the in-betweens, the never-happeneds, the oftens. I mean, it's almost one-fifth of our lives so far. But you know, memory can be fickle. Disloyal, you might say. Most of what occupies the room of you and I in my head are the 2am laughters. They were often.