It is the indifferent time between spring and winter, and, like usual I am in lust. This time he is incredibly smart and intense, strong hands with square finger nails, the inside corner of his eyes sloping down into a nose so gracefully that you can't help but imagine wet clay. His father was a famous football player and I think that makes him feel smaller than he is.
Whenever I'm not talking, I'm searching for a story.
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