I remember the first time I stepped into my now boyfriend, Michael’s, apartment. He was having our friends and coworkers over to play cornhole on his roof. There was football on the flat screen in his living room. I wandered up to the T.V. to catch the score. That’s when I saw them—for the first time in almost ten years. The red and white envelopes on his entertainment unit stood out like pimples that have scarred and just won’t go away no matter how many times you try to pop them.
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