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Written for HT100 Challenge #95: Same name, different story
Everybody's doin' it in here. You could say everybody's doin' it out there too, I ain't denying that. But in here...it becomes a fuckin' art form.
I dream of her. I stare through the TV screen, stare through the dumb fuck seated in front of me; stare through the glass, stare through the walls, stare through you.
I can still curl my legs around hers, I can still sense her toes brushing against mine. I still make love to her and feel.
My wife. My Annabella.
She doesn't come here as often as she used to.
She doesn't come here at all.
And all I'm left with is this.
Through you, through the walls, through the glass, through the dumb fuck seated in front of me. Through the TV screen and Miss Sally's white, smooth skin stretching across her collarbone; through the scent and the sense and the feeling of her soft toes brushing against mine...
Any art form eventually becomes routine.
And in here, routine becomes all you have.
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