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homecoming
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07.04.11 / 2:15 am
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it was the night of the homecoming dance. i stood on your porch rubbing my hands together, trying to work the cold out of my joints. i didn't want to meet your parents - this was before i grew up and meetings-of-the-parents became just a small part in a much greater process. back then, i didn't need to worry about the cleanliness of my apartment, or whether i had an extra toothbrush, but the cold and your dress and the discerning stares of your parents terrified me - to this day, i still don't know what they thought of me, my inexpertly tucked shirt, my approximation of wit because you broke it off less than a week later and, after, we rarely spoke.
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