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  • We sat on the patio of a bar having a beer, seven months since you gave up without trying.

    Sometimes I have moved on, sometimes I haven’t. Sometimes the things I do to get me to move on only serve to reinforce the idea I haven’t.

    The string of green lights lining the patio fence was the only light from behind you. You had your hair up, and the neon green blackened by the dark night shone off your neck, creating a color that I had never seen before. The shadows danced on your face as you wrinkled your eyes, smiled, looked down in thought. And all I could think was, oh shit.
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