I'd like to think that she didn't forget to say goodbye. That it was by design. That she knew she couldn't say goodbye, that she would make a mistake, slip up, that it would be so much more.
Wrapped in smoke and laughing friends, she hops in her called car. But it doesn't drive away. It stands there, a curb and a mile away from me. Hazard lights blink, the exit is paused. Could this be the cue? Is this the time when I say goodbye?
The car makes a U-turn and the night draws to a close. They ask me how I'm getting home. I say I don't know, but really I don't care.
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