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Game OverIm looking out the window. Thats all.This is wrong. Very, very wrong.Im gazing out his kitchen window, watching the summer grass blow lazily in the wind.His soft voices echoes in the room, trying to soothe her.Its so odd hearing his voice like this.Its usually loud, vibrant, strong.He sounds so small now.He doesnt understand what the real problem is. Obviously.I can hear her low, muttering voice coming from the other end of the line.Disapproval.I dont care about her, anyway.Yeah, we talk.We chat, giggle, smile in that stupid, hesitant way.That way where neither person is sure of the other's motives.That way.But we dont care.My mind flickers.Im standing in a different kitchen, different house, different time.Different guy.Same phone call, same disapproval, same disappointing heartache.Youre my two favorite girls
his voice floats, patient and gentle, only for her to respond ind