prompt: i miss you and i don'tMature

I think about you on escalators, mostly.  
Walking in the wrong direction;
in motion but none of it forward.
I write you letters, seal them up.
Scratch your address on the front
and toss it into the fireplace.
There is an echo hidden behind
these memories, a faint reminder
of what the good between us
felt like, what the after glow remembers,
and I wonder if you hear it too.

The End

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