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February 26, 2016
The grass is damp and beside him, her eyes searching the fog above them for answers. They've been lying here for hours. The blanket that warmed them earlier is now making him feel colder, and much as he wants to ask her if she wants to move, he couldn't break the silence. He's afraid that something might end, or begin. "I love you, please don't go," is all he wants to say. But what for? After this day, she will have left him not for the first time. And what's wrong with lying on the cold, damp grass like this?