dim streetlights.

We walked the streets of some imagined imagined city.

You didn’t hold my hand. You said there was a party down the street.

I told you I didn’t want to go. That if we went we wouldn’t leave together.

You looked me in the eye and told me you didn’t need me anymore. You turned and walked away.

My subconscious knows it now.

Then why is it still so hard for me to accept?

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