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My second hit.

In my head, they are huge. Giant, with some small white scars from tiny cuts. Your finger nails are probably bitten to the quick, or trimmed very close. Are they jagged?
Your fingers, in my head, are thick. Not piano players hands, but designed to twist and punch.
These are the Hands that start at the base of my neck, at arms length, as you move closer, rising up to my jaw at the same time your mouth reaches my ear and gives voice to those years of waiting.
And while you tell me all of the words I waited for, you keep hold.

6:40 p.m. - 2013-01-04

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