“Sorry,” I mumble, feeling embarrassed for the first time in my life. “I’m probably not making any sense.” “No.” I wish I knew how he kept his voice so cool and collected. It’s smooth like velvet, wrapping around me. “You make perfect sense. What makes you think that?” “It’s the desperate way they cling together. They grasp at one another too tightly to be fully happy. Something is ripping them apart. I wish I knew what…” “What if the sculptor didn’t want you to know what it was? Maybe they wanted you to come up with the answers yourself. Maybe they wanted to make you think about what things
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