I remember saying, rather exclaiming, how blue the sky was that day.  It was one of those skies with light, almost clear edges and a deep, worn denim center.  If you could close off the fringe of your peripheral vision, you could fall up and in.  Not a single cloud could catch you as you fell into the absolute blue, the heavens, the end and the beginning.

Just as I felt a tug around my core from above, I was snatched back by something mocking. A laugh.  “The sky is always blue,” she said.  I laughed and stammered and agreed and pushed it down deep.  This was the beginning and the end, the beginning of the end.  I felt that familiar tug away.  This was when I knew, for certain, that we were different.


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