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It wasn’t even cold anymore.


The flickering stack of logs and empty paper cups warmed away the chilled night air.  I could still see my breath as I took my last sip and threw my cup into the flame.  That’s when I met him.  And him.  And him.  And him.  Brown hair, blond hair, black hair, and so many pairs of eyes that flickered with the firelight.  All we did was talk.  We laughed and talked until our voices became as natural to the forest as the soft patter of autumn rain that surrounded us.  Without hesitation or apprehension, comparisons or social constructs we talked.  I spoke amongst men and they stopped to listen to me.  Deep in the forest I found people who listen to me, not because they wanted anything in return, but because they simply wanted to listen, to know.  I spoke amongst men and found the boy I missed, the boy dancing on the couch, eyes tightly shut, singing to a world of his own.  I went into the forest and I found Peter.  And the timing couldn’t have been more perfect.

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