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She talks, and I listen. The pack of cigarettes half emptied, and a half filled glass in front of me. I think of the coat left behind, while tightening the thin sweater that I had remained my only option.

Our lives do not seem much different despite the years in difference, and my son being an element in my life. Her nostalgia, seemed similar in certain ways, the over-analysis of relationships, the stress, the frustrations, and in short, life that happened, that keeps happening, and will continue on its own!

The place brought back memories, some funny, some messed up, some just plain weird. A list of names in which his appears, among others. I think of the night in Thamel, while passing the familiar club, where he was piss drunk, and I was in my “red dress”.

“I miss you!” the text reads. I reach for the delete button, in silence.

She speaks…