This is the drive I always take. These are the roads and the sights I see. They remind me exclusively of her.

How the coming and going is the ritual, and the ritual of a sort of mantra, and the mantra a sort of prayer. And there the bench on Mayfield, which is like a holy word spoken in the church of us.

In love, everything feels so significant and desperate. All of the chemicals firing in our brains, wide-open running full throttle, beautiful and raw. These streets between us holy with desire.

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