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March 30, 2007

Jeff R.: The Widow

He never said the words.

That's the thing she remembers, so many years afterwards. He once wrestled with an angel from Ganymede over me, gave me diamonds made from squeezing coal in his bare hands, carved our initials in the face of the moon.

I know there were others: that girl from the distant future where everyone reads minds and nobody needs names, and that one who called herself the goddess Athena, and might well have been. And whatsername, from the seventh dimension. But I was always first.

He never said the words, but he never had to. I knew.

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