Excerpt Seventy-One

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     I like to think that there's an "us" somewhere. Me and you, you and me, and everything we said we'd be. It's definitely not here, even though it might have been for a small second at one point. It's hard to find right now, actually, because you only love me sometimes. There are times when I see us. Sometimes I look at you; and it hits me: everything we could've been. Sometimes I'm sleeping, and you appear in my dreams. I think I want you to be my person so much that I trick myself into believing that you're good enough. I do still think that there's an "us." I know one day you will too. But when you do, my idea of us with be so far gone that it'll be too late. 

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