The Sunday Whirl

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When I looked over at her face, she stuck her tongue out at me. She was holding the book I had given her, the one with my inscription telling her all the ways I felt about her. I wanted to climb into a cave, drag myself away from this place, and build a barrier between us because I was so embarrassed. Apparently she didn’t sit vigil waiting for me as I waited for her. The book was only meant to be a small memento but now I regretted telling her how I really felt. Now it just felt like letters thrown into the wind. This was going to be the death of me and any chance I had with the woman of my dreams. 

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