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It's December.
We're back in the park, on our favourite bench. It's the only bench we sit on but we've practically left our imprint on it anyway.

It's wet and damp. Of course it is. It's always raining but I love you most when it rains.

You've got your arms around me, thumb stroking gently against the corner of my shoulder blade.

You tell me how much I mean to you, how you love to share your life with me because I'm so special.

But it was in December,
when we first left the park.

I landed in your house. Your bedroom, even.

It was the time you finally started to share
your body with me.

All of it.

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