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34 When They Find Each Other on Facebook Her profile smile a sideways rose you recall from a pillow long-ago —and her status: Married. Still married. You friend her anyhow so she sees your buff pic, the one a few years old. The membrane of time that parted you thins and you breathe together when you type, then she types. You both lurch in turbulence, guts catching up with you, but when this plane drops no oxygen mask pops out. How will you breathe? Except to remember she is breathing, too, right now. Then it’s just a matter of who pushes lush phrases and complaints against the mates. Or a quick back out, —the senses come to— and confession: Too late. Log-off or not. It is late. Too late. ...

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