Bathurst

I close my eyes, tracing the silhouette of my oldest haunt.

There she stood — wisps of blonde hair caught by the underground breeze. Headlights glowing in the darkness of a tunnel; our voices drowned out by the whirring of a subway train.

She looked back at me as she stepped through the closing doors — a goodbye smile that struck my world as lightning. My paper heart stained forever red.

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