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- 63 Reabrook Ln.
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- A whisper, and it was gone before I knew it had arrived. None of the dust
- disturbed on decade old photo frames. Once frozen nostalgia on-demand,
- replacements for our own memories. None of your ornaments re-arranged - I was
- never allowed to so much as suggest alterations - everything in its place on
- shelves suggesting exotic expeditions where we haggle with locals at market
- stalls, gladly accepting our foreign money; the right time and the right place,
- just what we needed; seaside towns and their endless provision of authentic
- antique stores, each as well established as the last to close its doors. None
- of our important papers, stuffed away in obscure drawers rarely opened, even
- so much as noticed. Life stories told in bank statements, payslips, pensions,
- letters from the solicitor, passports, and Christmas cards from names I don't
- remember... I don't remember you. I know you like a doctor might know his
- patient, or a teacher his student, or a murderer his victim. You are a name on
- legal documents; a caricature from memories conjured by statues and paintings;
- a face in blurry photographs that I've studied long hours into lonely nights,
- waiting for fleeting sensations that I can never quite grasp onto.
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