Memoir

I needed a concrete sign from God.
I performed the part of the poor girl.
I glanced over at Amy, who fumbled in her purse for a few minutes.
But Henry was a romantic.
Brace yourselves, because it won’t be pretty.
But we can’t stop looking, either.
But I was ready to dive into a bigger pond.
I sat there on the couch in the apartment.
I lied and said it was no big deal.
I stared at the pages, in shock.
A cool breeze floated in the window.
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