His eyes paralyze mine. Gray-blue. Vivid in hazy flashbacks that arise from cold dreams, ones that shock me in the aftermath of a wake-up call. Triggers of hurt pang at me, and I swallow hard because even without the tears, the numbing sensation slowly pulls my mechanics apart.

There was a time when we sat in that urban machine, with his hand on my knee and his smile forever mine. Long gone. Now his phone blows up with texts from someone else, a girl who does not know that his design was formed from seasons of loving me.

His sense of style, his gelled hair, the way he loves in bed, how he romances a girl, and the reasons why he lives in an renovated apartment and not somebody’s basement – that was all me, girl. You would have never fallen in love with him the way he used to be, so grace me with a standing ovation for all that he has become.

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