"look at her hands" the child says. "they're so small." we walk aimlessly around a large dining room, the velvet on the couches so crisp you could taste it in your mouth. the older you stated, concerned; "and since when does the cold make one feel so good?" "well what about when you would chew on that ice?" "oh yes, that's right, the crunching cold rocks, like breaking music on your teeth, and turning it into water." everyone turned to look at you then, but nobody said a word, their eyes did all of the talking and none of it was cordial, none of it was where you were. we used to kiss in the school class rooms on the weekend, they became some kind of museum then, not during school hours, i'd creak open my desk to see on the inside, what did i think i'd find? something wonderful, something new that would start the heart back up again. it might pick the wind up and the smell was dark and criminal, the air definitely letting you know you were breaking rules, i ate this up, every ounce of it. i'd enter each room and find a candy to unwrap and put in my mouth, no one would know, it was our little secret. our as in mine with me, yours with you, the best kind.

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