So smooth, my fingers slip each time I grasp -- you cant steal something you can't pick up. You can't touch something that isn't real. I used to admire boys who learned how to dance, edging as close to unreality as reality might allow, fingers entwined, chest pressing chest, guessing at which point they might make contact with the beyond -- all they need to worry about is keeping their feet from stumbling over your feet, a hard concept when the they can feel you breath so close and their minds delving deep where they ache to go
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