In the beginning my responses were destructive. "Fucking loser," being one example.
It was never real. It was the voice of inexperience, of frustration, of brittleness, of helplessness.
Later as our lives improved I found my patience. Or, perhaps, as my love deepened.
Granted the struggle never ends. What does the future hold?
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© 2002-2012 Mark Phillips.
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This writing is fiction. Please don't confuse it with reality.