I wanted to ask you about your vision of perfection in an imperfect world, or what side of the earth calls out to you when you touch a physical globe, or maybe about your greatest heartache and how you still go on as your world continues turning, or what you do with a memory once lodged inside your bones that's still breathing, and burning.
But you're still a stranger, and I'm overly polite, so I'll ask all about your day when I'd rather know about your life.
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