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Friday, November 19th, 2004 04:36 pm (UTC)
::thud::
K8 waves weakly and ineffectually from the floor at her monitor, as if you can see that.
She mutters incoherently about Jesse and fur and texture and ohthewant and missing and texture and ::thud:: skin hitting plastic mat with a muffled smack.
If anyone were to hear, the faint rustling of knees against carpet then squeak of sleepwarm joints against kitchen linoleum, grunt of effort as she pulls herself up by the counter and grabs dark chocolate with ginger left over from last nights menses communing and devours as if it were a drug that would cure all ills (it is) and is more welcome than morphine.
You know I love you, right?

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