Years ago, I said Fuck Baseball.
Little did I know that the alternative was right up my alley.
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Years ago, I said Fuck Baseball.
Little did I know that the alternative was right up my alley.
She touches to remember. Where she had been grabbed, where fingers caressed, where knuckles turned white around hair. She explores herself like a cartographer, mapping out experiences it her mind to recall the topography of evenings past. Most of the time, it’s roughly to scale. Others, she just can’t seem to replicate exactly what had been done. But no map is ever completely accurate, it’s only an interpretation of the lay of the land.