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| Seventeen minutes ago, I was in love _______________________ |
| with the cashier and a cinnamon pull-apart, ________________ |
| seven minutes before that, it was a gray- __________________ |
| haired man in argyle socks, a woman ________________________ |
| dancing outside the bakery holding _________________________ |
| a cigarette and broken umbrella. The rain, _________________ |
| I've fallen in love with it many times, ____________________ |
| the fog, the frost—how it covers the clovers _______________ |
| —and by clovers I mean lovers. _____________________________ |
| And now I'm thinking how much I want to rush up ____________ |
| to the stranger in the plaid wool hat ______________________ |
| and tell him how much I love his eyes, _____________________ |
| all those fireworks, every seventeen minutes, exploding ____ |
| in my head—you the baker, you the novelist, ________________ |
| you the reader, you the homeless man on the corner _________ |
| with the strong hands—I've thought about you. But __________ |
| in this world we've been taught to keep ____________________ |
| our emotions tight, a rubberband ball we worry _____________ |
| if one band loosens, the others will begin shooting off ____ |
| in so many directions. So we quiet. ________________________ |
| I quiet. I eat my cinnamon bread ___________________________ |
| in the bakery watching the old man still sitting ___________ |
| at his table, moving his napkin as he drinks _______________ |
| his small cup of coffee, and I never say, __________________ |
| I think you're beautiful, except in my head, _______________ |
| except I decide I can't ____________________________________ |
| live this way, and walk over to him and ____________________ |
| place my hand on his shoulder, lean in close _______________ |
| and whisper, I love your argyle socks, _____________________ |
| and he grabs my hand, ______________________________________ |
| the way a memory holds tight in the smallest _______________ |
| corner. He smiles and says, ________________________________ |
| I always hope someone will notice. _________________________ |
| ____________________________________________________________ |
| _________— Kelli Russell Agodon, "Love Waltz with Fireworks” |
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