And even as she holds on to him, like she’s drowning, she can feel the familiar anger returning, like an old song that you’ve heard so many times it’s not even a song anymore, just a wasted pathway in your brain that you can never reclaim.

And even as she holds on to him, like she’s drowning, she can feel the familiar anger returning, like an old song that you’ve heard so many times it’s not even a song anymore, just a wasted pathway in your brain that you can never reclaim.

– Jonathan Tropper –

One Last Thing Before I Go

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