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come back to me

I saw Hope Sandoval on a sunny Sunday morning. I followed her into an abandoned church. She sat on a dusty pew. I sat in the back and watched her pray. Wind blew through the broken windows. I wanted to sit closer to her, wanted to touch the folds of her velvet dress. But I did not dare. I wanted to ask her if there was someone to pray to, somewhere to go when we finish being here. I wanted to put my arm around her and ward off the dusty wind. She flickered and disappeared. I was alone with the wind, the light, and the torn hymnals. I held myself and rocked back and forth. I hummed a song I remembered from a long time ago.

The day aged quietly. Just like most people.

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