I told her I was surprised. That I was happy to see her there. And part of me was. A little part. The other part, the larger part, knew I had a paper to write, and a response to type up, and ninety or so odd pages of reading to do. That larger part knew that none of it was going to get done now. And all the parts of me knew that I had told her this. That she knew, and simply didn't care. That spending time with me was more important. And all the parts of me, for no good damn reason, hated her for it.
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