Version of Events

Tears on a dancefloor

Not used anymore.

Memories of an interlude

She tries not to think about.

Scenes play over like old movies

Where nobody talks.

We all have our version of events

None of them match up

To what occurred before

Or after the last dance.

My solemn story begins in mid stride

Being swept off to the vestibule

Where we talked for hours.

Broken dreams surround this place

I drop the match on the ground

Whispering

“My God I miss you.”

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