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To Eric Hoffman's previous piece
Conversation Piece The heat broken, the sky paled into grey – we walk through this summer afternoon lead by uncertain footsteps. The air we breathe is bloated from humidity. You tease me with your gentle voice as clouds groan with ominous thunder. A storm front hungrily approaches. I no longer want this, this dance of guessing steps, the meaning of your words sublime and tangled. Simply broken truths. Say what you must say, say it concrete as a sure footing, alive and recognizable – a conversation empty of the stumbling blocks of pity and vagueness. Let the words rain down. Let their meanings pour on us from our little mouths. The storm front breaks, ten million raindrops fall all at once, purely drenching us in open water. An applause of oxygen. Our breaths breathe in its wetness, my mind soaks up your quiet conversation, sponging silences nestled in between the thousand separate voices of the rain. What must be understood will happen, the rest merely vanishes, all the same.
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