by anne wilmott, Stills

Babel

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Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

I remember a game we used to play.

You would get on top of me and I would scream words that had no meaning at the top of my lungs. You screamed your own just as loud, the two of us like intimately positioned savages from warring tribes. Except if those syllables of Babel could be translated I would have known you were shouting you were on my side the whole time weren’t you, dear. Weren’t you?

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