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The phone rings early: she says, “it’s been so long, baby.” “Are you still living the same place?” Can she swing through and bother me? I open the door at 8:03. I sit on the couch where we drank for three years. Does it still feel the same way? What about the summer that I came up, when I got sick on your parents porch? You got me arrested that night, and then I didn’t see you anymore until that summer that you came down, when I rushed you to the hospital. My brother really thought that you were sick. Like me, he never really understood any of this. I’ve been trying for years to make that part of myself disappear. Been trying to get on track, but I guess some things you lose, you never get back. I’ve been trying for years, to make sure that you finally disappear, but you keep coming up and saying something about our blood. You keep saying it’s in our blood.
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