There's 52 Stations on the Northern Line
None of them is yours, one of them is mine...
The very streets themselves are overlayed with memories.
This is the place you went that night when you were drunk.
That's the supermarket where you argued about organic vegetables.
Here's the place you bought her soup when she was sick.
That's the Starbucks where you waited, lost... until you realized you were at the wrong Starbucks.
And the place with the flowers. And the theater where you saw that movie with the actor she liked. The one you can't stand.
And the bar where she kissed you and the street where you fought.
And the corner where she said that horrible thing... that you never got over.
So you stay away from those places, those streets.
But sometimes, late at night, you smell something. And suddenly, you're back there. Many years removed, but still drawn to it.
But you can't participate anymore. You're gone, even though you're still there.
Like a mirror on the wall.
And the silence of the middle of the night lets the memories come rushing in.
Until you can almost see her, smell her hair, reach out to her.
Except she's not there.
She's in your heart. And everywhere you go without her, you carry her memory, you carry her essence.
You carry her still.
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