Playback.

Rereading the words I had written, I whisper them into my coffee cup.

The recap is soft, intimate.

Like hearing someone else’s secret that’s been folded up in a note and forgotten in a box on the highest shelf of your closet.

I remember the pain, but somehow it doesn’t feel like my own.

I pause for a moment, wondering if this is even my story to tell.

 

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