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June 12, 2002
"You make my blue skies bluer." She said. "Oh, yuck... phooey... damn I hate this mushy stuff."

"Well, then, why are you trying to come up with something mushy to say?" I looked at her from my position on the floor, stretched out, ankles crossed, headphones halfway on.

"Well, I want him to know how much I love him. And I can only think of mushy clichés." She sighed as she flopped herself down on the beanbag chair.

"Then tell him that." I slipped the headphones back over my ears.

"You make me think in clichés. Yeah... that will work."