Passing Your Ex on Comm. Ave
On ghosts.
It’s funny, how after all this time (and so many false alarms—the back of someone’s all-too-familiar head sending my heart into a tailspin until they turned around and, ah!) I could pick you from the morning crowd, crossing against the light, me weaving around on my bike to beat the traffic. I closed my eyes for a second, a last-ditch attempt to will myself invisible.
Did it work?
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