We sit on the porch on my last night, traces of the day’s heat lingering, chimes softly keeping rhythm with the breeze. It has turned dark. The tip of Gracie’s cigarette brightens and fades as she takes a drag. I can smell her Evening in Paris, and am glad she can’t see my face as I think about life without her, unable to articulate just how I feel. I am tired of loving someone who broke my heart a thousand times, yet I cannot let her go.
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