I would rather listen to radio silence than every country song that takes me back to you. Take away the hurt, the longing, and all those rosey conversations. I sit in transit, gazing out the glass and letting these burnt memories rise from the blackened ashes.

Threads of anger and frustration paralyze me, as I continue to imagine my initials etched into the metal skin of your suburban machine. I do not have to meet the girl, with her dull browns and her world of blues, to know that you lost the only thing extraordinary that was ever yours.

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