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.

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