I cried on the phone as the train pulled away. I said, I didn’t say goodbye. And you said it’s fine but it wasn’t, what if that was the last time?
A striped sweater hangs in my closet, unwearable, because of his voice — I like that sweater — and now to wear it would be intentional, to be trying too hard.
Maybe you would have had a good time, seeing friends you’ve been blowing off lately, catching up, maybe some light flirting would be fun, even if it’s meaningless.