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November 18, 2011
The phone she holds to her cheek is faded blue and inappropriately outdated, but the way it bends fits her cheekbone like an embrace.

"Sorry," it seems to say as it snuggles against her. "I can't help what comes through my speaker."

For a brief and fragile moment, she lets her expression crumple with sadness. Then, just like the way her momma used to smooth out the wrinkles of the sheets while making the bed, she smooths out the lines of pain on her face. Her eyes empty of emotion, and it is like watching the death of a sun.