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“I saw your grief,” I say. He looks up slowly, and I catch his eyes glinting in the lights from outside. “You were covered in it, like in sweat.” He pushes his chin out and then tucks it in when it starts to shake. “I never asked because I thought it would be too much to bear. The weight of your loss added to mine. And I just wanted to keep hurting, to dwell in that thick brine for a bit longer, undistracted. I wanted to be selfish and sad.”
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