We Only Meet in Cities Neither of Us Lives In
Airports. Anonymous hotels. Return flights where we sit rows apart and don't speak.
Dallas. Portland. Nashville.
We are tourists of our own desire.
No one knows both versions of us in the same zip code.
That safety is the drug.
Last trip he cried in the shower. I pretended not to hear.
We agreed not to love each other. We agreed poorly.
At the gate we board separate sections. My wedding band catches light like an accusation.
His doesn't. He's not married. That's why this was supposed to be simple.
Nothing about me is simple anymore.
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