You.

You met me at the wrong time.

Your mind flowed next to mind, reverberations of thought waves sending distress signals into my temporal lobe.

You spoke of God, travel, shows, dreams, kids, the inevitable future we’d have because we were a perfect fit.

You spoke of nothing at all, pressed against me, the waves of thought flowing through your body and into mine.

I grasped at the threads of the pants hemmed slightly too short.

I pulled them on, begging them to stretch, staring in the mirror, pleading as the hem unraveled as I tugged.

I never have a right time.

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