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We drank a rich, deep, moon wine under the dark sky. Our moods matched the hint of smoked oak in the spirit and the violent wind buffeting the glass enclosing the porch where we sat.
“Thunder makes me feel alive.” I wasn’t really talking to her. I would have said the same thing and said it out loud even if I were alone.
“I hate thunder,” she said, breaking the spell I was under. “It scares me.”
And that’s the difference between us and why we never really connected.