These memories would be sharp and embedded. And she would be too. She already was. I glanced down at my date, clinging to me for dear life. I would be jealous if she was clinging to another man. Deeply, deeply bothered by it. And that was something else I needed to unpack because I didn’t live here, so she was going to do this with someone else eventually because it couldn’t be me. I hated that it couldn’t be me. Which circled me back to what was I even doing here? If I knew this visit was pointless, why had I come? And yet, there was nowhere else I’d rather be, and nothing would have kept me
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