Every once in a while, I wil sit, with nothing better to do, lacking in motivation and inspiration, sorting through my hard drive. I sift through the text files like grains of sand. Notepad is one of my favorite programs. Sometimes I find things like this one. Things that I like, but do not remember. They are the mysterious products of forgotten thoughts and emotions, and they never fail to fascinate me. Anybody else?

She never showed that it was there, but he knew it was. He knew how it crept insidiously along under the carpet of everyday thought, the most imperceptible of ridges, a slow and serpentine thing. It had crept through his mind for many years, was probably still hiding there now. In his years of knowing her, he would see it flicker to the surface but once or twice, and was able to recognize and accept it each time. He wondered if she ever noticed if his showed through, if those lost, longing memories ever bubbled up close enough to the surface for her to see. He imagined they did. And this was why he loved her. She knew him without knowing him. She knew him by knowing herself, just as he knew her, because he knew himself.

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