"She knew he'd never be able to wear that shirt again because
passion didn't wash out, it made tiny fingerprints instead, just the
tips of her fingers as she went up on her toes, she was too short for
kissing in the kitchen barefoot, too short to be kissing Mulder who was
too tall to be kissed, but Mulder's other hand was behind her almost
lifting her up, supporting her, leaving red fingerprints on her robe.
They would match like the coastlines of two continents once pressed
together, one piece, one country, but then split, each retaining the
memory of the other, the places where they once connected."
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