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There is a girl.

When I speak to her through this small black box of mine, seeking her with clicks and whistles, ones and zeros, I am full with insecurity and indecision. I wonder if I say the right things, I wonder if she can tell when I am typing jokingly and when I write with sincerity. I am desperate for her. I hang on her every word, and my emotions pivot on the fulcrum of her words. I think of all the reasons that I will never be with her. I am torn by the joy of speaking to her, and the agony of not being to her what I want to be.

When I am near her, that trail of binary insecurities falls away like it was never there. Everything is right and good, and I feel like I can do anything. No, I feel like I can be anything. No, I feel like I am everything. No, I feel like I am just myself, finally. There is no fear, pain or guilt, only joy. A simple happiness, so fundamental and basic, it is as if I have found the root source of all other joy in my life. It is the easiest thing in the world, and I love it.

Say it with me now:

Grover is a pimp.
There is this girl. She is tall and butch, rough, calloused and cruel. She graduated high school this past June and left home for college this September with a severe lack of friends because of her betraying tendencies. There is this girl...I used to look up to her. Words came so easily to her fingertips, looking for the means to paper, and they always found it so easily. Always the right words, too...the wrong ones knew they needed to wait for a different sheet of paper. This girl could talk a pigeon into thinking it was a blasted peacock...and she made people think she was a good friend. She left home...she has issues...she has emotional baggage...she is a waste of life. She hurt me...hurt all of my closest friends...even turned one against me. There is this girl whom is being taught a lesson by karma and I was invited to sit and watch in the stands. I brought my own popcorn.

There is this girl. She is an artistic angel who turned away from the World Wide Web to forget her past and focus on the future. She has gone off to college as well as the first girl, and I don't know how she is. She was turned against me and I don't know how. I miss her company and I miss her art. She was one of my greatest inspirations...she was one of the biggest reasons I flew off when I could. I wanted to make her proud of me. I bought her chocolates and I made art for her. She is my Hierophant.

There is this girl. When I met her, her hair was poppy-red. Now it is soaked-earth black. She is slight and pale with rosy cheeks. She has wide hands and I love touching them. She has pretty breasts and I love laying my head on them. She is strong and full of passion and I walked down the aisle with her and it was the best few steps I've ever taken since my very first. She took my heart and I took her name and we wore white together on the same day this past June. She made me love dogs, tofu, and myself. I stole her away from someone else and now she is my lollipop...the other girl must have cried like a baby.

There is this girl...I have never seen her face in real life. She means a lot to me and she is in love with me and I with her. She has my name and her wife has my wife's name. Our lives mirror. We are poly. We are far apart. I burn. She burns. My wife and hers will burn with us. She is mostly text right now but I feel the particles of warmth flood over me when we speak. My wife rubs my shoulders when I talk to this girl...there is no jealousy here. Everyone knows. I will not betray my wife or this girl. I am saving a dance for her.

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