I don’t know why I keep thinking about that night. I got drunk two nights before and said nasty things to you, and you told me the morning after that it was a bad idea, that you should cancel that dinner we were going to go to. I convinced you not to. Told you I made a mistake. That I was looking forward to the dinner. I spent so much time thinking about what I was going to wear. I even bought a second outfit after already picking out one almost a week before. You said okay.

You picked me up, and I ran out of my apartment in that outfit. That lacy top and the expensive silver skirt I fell in love with and couldn’t really afford but bought anyway. That choker on my neck that you joked about but said you loved, my face dressed in makeup I’ve been practicing.

I thought it wasn’t going to happen. You said you had a meeting and wanted me to check if we could move the dinner. But eventually you picked me up, and I ran to the car.

We thought we might be a little late, but we made it. And it was wonderful. I hope you thought I was beautiful. I hope you realized you loved me the way I realized I loved you.

I remember that cold night, waiting for a ride home. Then we made it back to my place, where I quickly changed and grabbed my things to go over to your place for the night. You said you missed me when we were on the bed.

And the magic died over and over again after that night. It died the day after. It died when we left the city for the holidays. It died this spring, and now I guess it’s forever gone this summer. Maybe it was never there, and it was all in my head.

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