You were across the table.
You listened as I told stories about my life that very few people knew about. Silent, sitting still, staring at me as I poured out my frustrations and unraveled the complicated chapters of my life, laying them open on the table so that you could have a glimpse of my tumultuous world and decide whether you’ll leave, or stay right where you are… silent, sitting still, and staring while billows of smoke from our cigarettes cloud the air between us and surround us with thin wisps that dissolve just as fast as our resolve to keep this meeting purely platonic.
And then you were beside me.
I listened as you told bits and pieces about your life, creating in my head a seemingly vague idea of who you are. Staccato, the manner in which you spoke about your life. Hesitant, like you weren’t…
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