Elizabeth
I don’t really know why it took me so long to look into it. I suppose that it has a lot to do with not wanting to know — not wanting to know what happened, not wanting to know how it happened, and not wanting to know just how much Elizabeth had become a part of me. Curiosity kills cats, after all. And it can do the same to us; I know from experience. I stood outside the Beachwood Bay Public Library for almost five minutes, the dry fingers of both my hands pressing awkwardly into a flimsy Styrofoam cup. The decaf coffee grew colder by the second, probably...
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