Was it you?


Who was it, who entered my dark study the other night as I sat at my desk, who was it who stood behind my chair and put hands on my shoulders and smoothed my hair? I never saw. I never asked. I was sitting in the dark, a little fearful about the future with all its unknown sequences, the melting glaciers, and there were the hands on my shoulders. Was it you, or you, or you? I should have turned. I never did.

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