Speak Last night you told me that you didnt love me but when I rushed away down the hill, across the railroad tracks, onto the highway, you grabbed my arm and stopped me because your vision was not blurred by tears and you saw the leering trucks speeding toward us. And I was angry that you made me explain the feelings that should be obvious by now. This morning I awoke and my throat was still raw from the shouting. And you came into the bathroom and I looked at your face behind my own in the mirror, and I asked what you had come to say. You didnt speak. --September 1, 2001
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