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It was a dumb thing to want, I mean, I knew that. I've known that since I was old enough to want it and even that didn't make me want it any less. So when he finally gave it to me... I don't know. I don't know how to describe it. It was so long ago. And it wasn't like it is now, which is fine. ...I mean good. Great. Whatever.

It was the real thing. And I thought to myself: this is it. This is me. This is my life: starting now, and I don't care what people say, and I don't care if people get hurt.

And then people got hurt and I cared.

Less about them; more about the people that would be hurt by them being hurt. Totally confusing. The people who would miss them. I cared that it hurt her

Can you still be a good person if you do the right thing for a selfish reason?

I gave it up for her. The one thing I always wanted.

In fairy tales, that would be enough to turn a guy into a handsome prince.

That stuff doesn't happen in real life. I'm over it, and everything. I'm just saying.

Like A Rollercoaster

The wind roars in his ears, and the phrase 'non-stellar black hole' rolls across his mind as they blast along the time-line. It all sounds like human mumbo-jumbo to him. He grips Marnie tighter as the broomstick dips and his stomach lurches; buries his nose in her hair, the scent of which is a welcome change from anything at Gort's house, and is welcome just on general principle.

He would sort of rather she was the one with her arms wrapped around his waist, but she is flying the darned thing.

He's aware that she likes this: seeing the tough guy...tough goblin (even if he's long since grown out of being the town's local punk)...scared of something she isn't afraid of. It doesn't cross his mind that she might have even less wholesome intentions.

This is how the teen witch flirts: she puts the boys on the back of her broom and drives like crazy.

Breath, Eyes, Memory...

Her breath was really soft against my cheek. At least, that's how I remember it. Years and years have gone by, and I might have turned the whole thing into a fantasy version of what actually happened by now. In reality it was all so fast I probably didn't have time to feel anything.

I remember thinking she was beautiful too. Not just beautiful: lovely. No one is lovely at thirteen. At thirteen, you're lucky not to spook horses. But I was a particularly stupid kid, and you couldn't tell me anything back then. You know: because I knew it all.

I do know I'm not imagining the way she looked at me. She didn't look disappointed, which is what I was expecting: disappointed or worse.

Her eyes were gentle, but she looked at me like I was something wonderful.

I bet she thought she was doing something really kind by kissing me, but it was actually sort of cruel in a way. I don't know how I'm ever supposed to get over her.

I guess first I would have to actually want to.

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