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  • It started with a glass of wine at dinner. Pink wine, the kind I'd shared with my best friend, before she moved six hundred miles away. Our little inside joke. #pinkwine A tiny glass, barely a real pour, just enough to temper the heat of my kimchi noodles. I took a photo and sent it off:

    "Miss you."

    Wine and noodles and a good book. A table by the window. I paid in cash, tipped extra. Lingered just a minute to finish a chapter.

    It followed me out of the restaurant, into the warm dark. Hung tight and heavy around my shoulders as I passed under the streetlights lining the intersection. Whispered to me in the Indian summer air and broke me down as I walked the dark sidewalk in front of lighted houses, voices chirping out from open windows.

    Air. More, new, air.

    Pink wine filling my eyes. Spicy kimchi burning bands around my chest, taking my breath away. The sudden weight of a solitary meal buckling my knees.
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