This is not a love story. She does not drink tequila. He doesn’t let her. The rain comes pouring down the eaves of their roof in time with her tears. Slow then strong, another Seattle storm and she is green silent slivers of wet walking out the front door into everyday cataclysm. He follows; stands beside her with his hands in his pockets, barefoot
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Anything Alex does it for me, but I've always been fascinated with the similarities between Alex and Meredith and their obvious connection based on those similarities... acknowledged or otherwise.
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I love Alex too. I love him with Meredith especially which is why I write them. There should be more by the end of September. I know what happens in the third chapter...
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