You were different.

Different from how I remembered, different from how we’d left things.

This time, there was no tension, no palpable hurt, no desire.

Just a small urge to relive the past, for just one moment. Just one.

To remember the kind of person you were when you’d left, to remember the hurt as if it were yesterday…

To hate.

But it was hard to do that, when the person standing in front of me was a glimpse of a person who I’d once known, who I’d once thought existed under all the layers of suave, cold, indifference.

Why couldn’t you have been this person always?

And so, we challenged each other silently, daring the other to speak the words that we didn’t have the courage to utter.

And instead, it was swept under the carpet, wiped away, as if it never happened.

Is that the bliss of ignorance? Is that the way we convince ourselves?

It works, by all means.



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