As usual, I met you where you were. On that particular day- while you were waiting for your things to dry at the laundromat. (I'd never been to a laundromat before. You always take me to new places). I would kill time. We couldn't find a place to sit, so we sat on the grassy strip that separated the sidewalk from the asphalt. In my mind I was laughing. Loud. I spent the next seventeen minutes debating whether or not you'd finally learned how to mean your words. (Later that night, it was confirmed that you were successful at getting worse). Being with you was just as I had remembered it- dirty. cheap. tiring. unsafe.
Nothing's changed.
That's why.
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