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I now sit here, 3000 miles away listening to Bob Dylan covers, thinking about the last night we spoke. I still can’t believe that you answered your phone and that I got to hear your voice one last time. I didn’t think that would happen. Sometimes I like to imagine that when I move back to the city for graduate school next summer, we’ll run into each other in the streets on Brooklyn. I will be a little bit thinner with longer hair and wearing a new pair of glasses. You would be wearing those black flip flops and your teeth would still be crooked. I’d double take and give a three-second silent prayer for the courage to talk to you and hope that you didn’t hate me for a reason I knew nothing about. We’d exchange hugs and kisses on the cheek and ask each other how about our lives. You’d be surprised that I found my way back into New York before I apologize for acting crazy and losing touch. We would want to kiss each other like we once passionately did- you push me up against the wall and graze your fingertips against the softness of my cheek. I’d stare into your kaleidoscope eyes and tell you every good feeling about that I had bottled up inside me since the day I left you.

But I know that will never happen. I’m building my life here without your presence now.

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