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2010-05-01 - 11:16 p.m.

It's true that I search faces. I do it while in crowds, at rock shows, on busy sidewalks. I don't do it all the time, no. But often enough.

The face I'm looking for has changed, some, over the years. But, here, in this city, there's one particular face I catch myself looking for. I'll be walking to the little park, or buying a beer, and something about the way some girl walks, her shape, the way she's talking with her friends, will stop me for a moment. Mostly, though, it'll be her hair. Mostly, it'll be some girl's curly hair, unruly almost, bunched tightly on top and falling in tight ribbons down her neck. The club's orange light will shine through her hair in such a way that for a moment it just might be not some girl but one particular girl, and in that moment her curly hair is not hair any more but instead a glowing thing, a familiar cloud, something I once knew very well, something I could almost smell if the times were a little different.

She grew up in this city, this one girl I'm talking about. She doesn't live here any more, I know that, but her visiting some friends wouldn't be unbelievable, or her family. She's mostly been far away, doing things smart people do, even doing them in Europe for a while and now in a different place but still a place that's far away from here. There's just a small chance, an unlikely one, but still a chance. Or else that's just one reason. I feel guilty for doing this. It embarrasses me.

But then, every time, this girl I see will turn just a little and her nose will be wrong. Or she'll laugh and it'll be a fine laugh but it won't be the right laugh, not the one that I used to know well. And I'm fine and we're all fine but, still, that moment when she turns, that moment when she laughs and I see the truth, though it lets my heart beat again, lets the world keep going, every time it's not her it's one more tiny step away, away.

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