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He’s sprawled on the floor, paper all around him. He writes for a moment, then stops to chew on the end of his pencil.
He turns onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. His feet are twitching. He won’t be there much longer.
I love watching him when he doesn’t know I am because I see the real him, and not how he thinks he needs to be for the world.
His blue eyes notice me, and he smiles. That impish smile I fell in love with.
He comes to me then, and the kiss we share is heaven.
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