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Relativity It was a second floor walk-up, and you complained of the bed. But that's what drew me to the room with one window, as our breath fogged the glass. I wrote your name, and it dribbled toward the pane. We hung by a slender thread from which I dangled above the bed. And soon, the thought of us, was a mere finger on the glass. We were so much dribble; so little mass.