CANDLELIGHT FLICKERS.
And I sit across from him, doing a business deal at 6 o'clock on a Sunday evening.
The deal was this: if I leave, I leave. I don't come back. Ever. And I have to cut it all off - the ties, the mutual friends, the memories, the person I loved for eight years. As if none of it ever existed. Or mattered.
And you would help me pack my bags - heavy ones at that.
Five years on, even though none of it matters anymore, it still hurts.
I still flinch at your name.
I remember being sixteen and in love.
And I remember you, and mid-July.
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