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3 M Y S T E R Y Somehow I could tell you entered the cabin, and before I unlock the door, I check for the extra key beneath the brick at the southwest corner. Somehow I know it has been moved— that it is not where it was before. I imagine I can inhale the aroma of your skin within the sweet scent of the pine this cabin was built with. I know how your aura moves across any room, trailing those blue and gold lights— how you must have listened to the wind singing through the remaining leaves of the trees in the late October rain. I know what appears to be madness sometimes can be love, that it is something more inconsistent, and then even more constant, and always more beautiful than any of that— so that it remains a mystery that no one else, especially the two of us, can understand. ...

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