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October 10, 2015
In another life, you're wheedling your way onto my lap because you want me to sing you to sleep. In this life I'm a good singer, I like this other life, to be honest. You forgive my biggest mistakes, but what especially give me the fuzzies are the times you forgive me for my littlest faults. My grammar lapses, my tantrums, my moments of weakness in which I turn to indifference in order to feign love. You say nothing, you just hold my hand and squeeze it, and I will know then that it means "I'm here and it's okay."