The freckle by your navel. That’s what I think about. It really is weird what ties you to the memory of a person. I remember you by the freckle by your navel.
It is not even a private thing. Anyone can see it. When you take your shirt off in the park in the summer. When you swim. When you stretch your arms and your shirt rides up a bit. It was in no way a secret part of you, but it feels like my own private memory of you.
It reminds me of the time when we were in the cafe that one cold spring day. You placed your coffee and my hot chocolate down. You took off your sweater and your shirt rode up slightly and it was the first time I noticed it. It was during our stolen hours, hiding away from everyone we knew. I…
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