It Could Be You But It May Not Be You
It’s probably not you because the grammar is off. But it has all the markings of you: Max Ernst paintings at the MET, beers at a dark LES bar, the passionate kissing outside of a diner.
(I stopped for a second while reading the post. Perhaps I never knew you)
It’s probably not you.
I wish it were.
And it wasn’t me that you were writing to.