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2002-07-16 - 3:18 a.m.

I am talking to someone right now, this very minute, who moves me.

She's gorgeous, she's young, she's got a sharp wit, and a quick tongue.

She's got dark hair, and eyes that cut through me. Skin that looks so soft you'd be afraid to touch it, afraid to see your skin against hers, it looks so flawless.

She has indescribable curves; hips, shoulders, legs, amazing breasts, eyes, cheeks, thighs.... sculpted, this girl.

The sound of her voice makes me confident, as if I can do anything, and say anything, and never falter.

I have thought about her, the last few days, about whether I want her to want me, the way I do her.

In my head is a collection of random events and images, of her, and I , doing things we've never even talked about doing, in places we've never considered visiting with one another.

It would be nice, if there weren't so many things keeping them from becoming more than fleeting images, lost and faded.

It would be nice to make alot of those barriers disappear together.

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35 Years old. 1971.
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