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Weekly Contest #328
I forget exactly how it went, but the song you sang for me down at the pier---where the lake met the shore of your old summer house---echoed once, briefly, in my mind when I heard it, and echoes still when I think about you. But now it has been distorted, and only fragments of the melody remain. Recall that day: a warm evening in late July fifteen years ago. That day, long before our present became the past, and our future became irrecoverable. At the edge of the glade where your cabin resided, the tall cypresses marked the boundary of our l...
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