by Carole W
Catherine is ...
and the words were swept away, the flood of years between them, its waters threaded currents of mirth, of melancholy.
You left – before our urgencies outgrew the imagined raft, the midnight expedition, the measure of the frog’s leap; while still we journeyed on boyish knees and bare hands, in adventure oblivious to the scrape of stone; before first your eye, then your heart might fix, before first love stopped your breath; before leaving in a different way, wrongly guilty that you did and I might never know ...
But, Devin, I do know. She ... is.
... more than a helper.
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