Monday, Dec. 19, 2005 - 10:04 a.m.
She had invited him in. Peeking through her front door all he saw was a cell and he feared her trap. With his toe barely across the threshold he turned heel, angry at her for the subjection. He didn�t grasp that it was her cell alone and all she needed was him to see and hear it, even if she quietly hoped he might one day be waiting for her at the other end of the escape tunnel. He didn�t know that he could look but not be. He didn�t see that all the equations are imperfect.
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