The light from the Harvest Moon wakes me at midnight. The air is cold out there tonight. A friend talked to me about meeting in the future - maybe in four months or seven months or eleven months. Sure, I said.
Some distant future in which anything could happen.
You don't seem very excited. Well, it's been a long time since I pinned my hopes on another. That doesn't sound very positive. If it happens, it happens. You're so negative. Sure, I said.
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