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Fleeting Moments

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Life’s about the fleeting moments. Like this. Time catches, freezes… The way she looks at me… Is she thinking the same thing?

Course, she’s not my usual type. Normally, time doesn’t so much hang, it stampedes. Guys are wicked easy. With chicks the whole thing’s screwed. Feels like I need a playbook, or a shooting star. I hate them, but I don’t. And that makes shit for sense.

It’s just rare. I mean, finding girls who want some play isn’t, but finding one who’s got that extra something.

That’s hard. And different.

Our moment passes to a deficit. My loss.