“I guess these are just conversations I'll never have with you,” Regina yelled, one night, towards the end.
“Add it to the list of possible titles for the book I’m not writing you.” I screamed back. Nonsense only in retrospect.
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Nothing important
has ever happened
here, so
don’t ever write anything
you don’t want made public.
We sat there and played Yahtzee
and made it a drinking game.
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