It’s 2 am on a Friday night, in fact, it’s Saturday morning. I hadn’t thought of you for a few years now.
Well that is a lie.
I creep in the online public records. You still live in the same house. A small yellow bungalow with black shutters, and a great big yard. You haven’t married.
I know you think you are off the digital world’s grid, but there is evidence that you exist and I can trace you.
Sometimes I am curious, do you do the same? Trainwreck…as you predicted!
It’s funny how you cross my mind. Scatterings across my memories. The pain continues. One might call it a hushed whisper that takes a gasp while my heart jumps and flutters. Fractions of time passing, flashing and then gone, giving way to happier memories of you and I.
Godiva Chocolate was your first gift. Like an old fashioned school…
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