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The Other Girl

In by Allison on January 11, 2011 at 3:02 pm

I put down the manuscript.

“Well?” he asked. He was doing a crossword puzzle with a ballpoint pen.

“She’s not me.”

“What?”

“The girl. She’s someone else. She’s not me.”

“She’s no one,” he said. “She’s made up. It’s fiction.”

Always a level voice. I loved him: steady, solid. But hated that he could build worlds with words that made me weep while never weeping himself. Do you feel these things you write? Or are you just a scribe? Tell me you feel something, dammit.

“Do you love her? This girl?”

“She’s made up. She’s not real,” he said quietly.

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