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Everyone always has The One That Got Away. Mine lives in Southern California, where it's 70 degrees all the time, and where the ocean is always warm. Maybe he's 20 minutes from Mexico, but he's 9 hours from me.

Sometimes, it will be over a year before we talk again. Usually after I've complained that he's smashed my heart for the third and fourth time, I stop talking to him.

Our paths have always intersected at the wrong times, but he loves San Francisco in September just as much as I do.

I guess none of this should come by surprise to me, having drawn his only tattoo on my ankle for weeks now. I didn't think I was casting any spells, but what do I know?

Of course, another boy that plays guitar, and sings in one of those voices. Of course, another boy, slightly bent on an exgirlfriend. Of course, another boy too far away.

He sent me 5 messages since I've been back in California. He didn't know I had moved. Then, he received the messages I sent to him.

Carie, I'm so glad you're back in California and that you're alive. I'll talk to you soon. I hope.

It never fails. He always knows the instant I'm about to break.

6:27 a.m. - 2003-06-27


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