Here comes the last of a dozen sequences that ruptured my heart from the first goodbye. Nose first into the clouds, the city lights below are obscured from view. I breathe in, fearing the finality of it all. How I long for it to be November once more.

The Westfield tower twinkles in the fabric of my mind. I let the tears walk me backwards into once upon another time, when I belonged to a world of summer lands and amaretto sours. This skyline etches itself into the flesh of my memory, a fresh haunt that will follow me until I return.

The flashback starts – there he is, a poison of the new age; handsome and collected yet far too gone to remember my name. That is when I run, pacing my steps in the 3 a.m. crowd and past the neon streetlights. I only slow when I receive a call from my long ago. He resurfaces my buried heart, willing me to empathize with his story. His voice had followed me from Melbourne to Cairns and the west coast; memories I would offer in exchange for asylum.

I guess I must have fallen for the city after all.

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