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unWeeknd
It was that year before I moved to NYC. I met him at a club. He was dressed better than everyone else, like he was from Europe. He said he was a DJ. I moved in for a week. He traveled, he was working with this famous person, he had this gig booked, and the whole time working on the same 10 seconds of a track over and over and over again. Everyone knew he was mentally ill, except for me. My drug deal fell through, he wasn’t making me come, my VW convertible on humid southern nights. I ended it. He showed up on my porch asking for his sneakers through my glass door, screaming at me that I had daddy issues. And when I finally heard that track on the radio....... it was The Weeknd......and not him. And I listen to The Morning on repeat to remember my last 10 seconds of naivety.
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Disassociate
In my mind when the conversations around me become quiet and my memory of you so loud. I’m transported to a time I was happy with you and the feeling of your warmth and presence in my life is there again. And I miss Brooklyn and holding your hand while we walk through the cold streets. Talking of our life and the love we are sharing. And then I’m brought back to the bar I’m in with friends 4 years later exactly and you’re not there, as if you died. I feel the absence of your presence everyday and I will never accept that you have still not come back for me.
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