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Observation 1, 113, 113, 113.

People are strange.

They walk around, pretending to have everything they need: coffee, newspaper, breakfast bar with the pre-melted milk inside.

It's funny, though. You always see them scrambling, looking in pockets and purses...

Searching for the missing.


Heated discussions.

You've told me countless times, we're not going to fight over this.

But we can't just not discuss absolutely everything. Because I need to know how you feel. I need to hear that you're angry, to hear you say the things you mean out loud. I need to know more than silence, and your back getting smaller in the distance.

Because truthfully, words hurt so much less.


Save my seat.

The last day I saw you, the city was our view. We met down in a little coffee house, and you came later than promised. You always managed to do that.

We brushed the rain off of our coat sleeves and talked it over. We were supposed to figure out what went wrong and make sure we wouldn't lose contact. I guess you had other things in your past to account for, and other things to move on to. Maybe it was just time to let things go.

Nothing was solved and we didn't feel better before you stood up saying you had to "hit the road". We exchanged an awkward hug, a melancholy goodbye, ready to take the journey to new paths in life. Separate paths.

And we left in opposite directions. I realized it would be the last time I saw you, and I didn't let that hurt me. I let the rain claim you away from me, and the city was our story.

We know the end always comes.