daydream // n.

We park near the train tracks in the square. It’s a Monday night, and all the need-to-knows are there lounging outside of the coffee house smoking their cigarettes.
I was tired of coming up empty when people asked, “Why?” or “How could you stay for so long?” For weeks I had wondered what story they had heard before I finally decided that worrying about being painted as the one who did the heart breaking was pointless. Everyone knew. The fact that my image of myself had been picked at and demolished bone by bone by someone who I’d once given too much power to was inevitable. But across the square I walk, holding your hand now months later, past the smoke and awkward silences, through the doors— and still holding your hand with my white, shaking fingers I shout, “Look! Everyone come see! I finally got it all right!”

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