I can’t stop thinking about you. I walk around in the streets with my secret about you. I meet the occasional friend for a coffee but drink tea and don’t mention that you are the one thing that is on my mind. I don’t even mind that I’m not drinking coffee right now. I edit at my desk with a hand on my belly, although it is ridiculously early to be showing even a bump. I welcome John more affectionately when he comes home from work. The possibility of you is constantly on my mind. But I realize there is nothing exciting about describing the unknown or the potential. Conjuring up your existence
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