The phone rings. The past is present. He is back.
But she is not. Rather, she is not she. The girl he knew has flown, grown. She is no longer a shy, sweet, giggling twenty year old.
But who is he? How have the years attached themselves to his soul? A lover left: what scars did she leave in her wake? How raw, how calloused, how broken is he?
What does he need?
A rushed kiss, a hurried goodbye, words sent across miles, broken promises, beautiful lies: this is their legacy.
How can a future even be contemplated when the present is a whirlwind of choices and chances? What does she do with him? What does she do with herself?
"it's just another day"
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