Wasted Youth

Flashes of a silky blonde mess paralyze me. And so in the fogged-up window of my car, I trace the name of the place I saw you last. Lalaland. Here I sit, at a red light in the dead of the night, letting the sound system drown me in another memory of what could have never been.

There was a time, when I had walked along the waters up in Central Coast, and he had been the only voice I wanted to hear on the other end of the line. Late night texts that I held on to because I could not let go. Wasted youth, moments I would haggle back if I could.

These days, my skyline blurs with every passing autumn, and I realize now how transient our love had been.

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