Memories of other lives #2
If you had asked me how our evening was, I would say it was like any other, we got drunk and shit-talked everyone we knew, she left and I started to worry. I don't know why I do. She says you can never get lost in this city. We had fallen in love in October, our bodies were young and buzzing with promise and touch. That was a long time ago. We lost the electricity along the way, now I know the crevices of her body as well as I know my own. Sometimes I can't tell where she ends and where I begin. Even this, as I write it, sounds like her.
Loving her was like a drug back then. Loving her is a habit now, like our self-inflicted heartbreaks and disappointments and hangovers.
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Arcadia
PoetrySpilled thoughts, letters from no one, stories of another time, another place. - || H.R. : #50 in Poetry ||