Monday, September 21, 2015

Cue

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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