Normally it would get to you. The silence. But this was different; in the way that warm summer afternoons are from bitterly cold winter nights, this was good. Rarely are things in life truly good. This was, in the way sex is. A mental high that rocks the body and rolls the soul. Sends you to space with jetpacks of rum. Without the awkward post cotuis chatter. This is apart from those moments, where dry whispers crack the sentiments and kill the silence. Words cheapen moments like this, whatever this was, and turn them into sour, bitter, biting monsters. The kind that scrape the cortex and cause migrains. That leave used condoms out for her to discover. That lie and cheat and steal moments like this away. This was different

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