No need to read the following if you listen to Nora Jones sing Turn Me On.
"You've been inside a long time."
"Yes."
"I'm nervous."
"Why?
"Three years. How long for you?A day?A week?"
He smiles in a whisper, "Longer than that," puts my face in his hands, and moves in.
Today I am grateful for a southern rhythm, for impending, for when you have to remember to breathe. For how when I think of him I want to pull my sleeves down to the ends of my fingers and bring both hands under my chin and you know you like a man when you like thinking about him and laughing with friends and by yourself about how nice that conversation was. is.
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