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What makes us act at all?


There was her and then there was me.

We were in a race to get home. She won. Or did she?

I waited. Just a little too long.

There was more I could have done but why bother?

To win when someone looses isn’t a win at all.

And then there was silence as we held our ground.

One was in the corner longing to be seen and the other was running as fast as she could to win at a game that has no ending.

What makes us act like little kids when feelings rise and tension builds and the distaste for the play and the players sends us into shock and the ground is wiped out beneath us and we are left with broken hearts? Just. Like. That.

What makes us act at all?


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