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A Little Out of Reach

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Grace floods his dreams. These used to be the dreams he was grateful for. Now the sting of them is unbearable.

Grace was always a little out of reach, a little vague.

Never, he thinks, did he underestimate her, even though she seemed designed to invite those kind of assumptions, small boned, hair mousy blonde, her thin, grey eyes, tan-coloured skirts, the same for her underwear underneath. He could run his hands over her and worry she was barely there.

She knew how to hide herself, and yet, she was so self-possessed it ensured his notice. And he can’t forget.