It’s been nearly two months since I broke up with my girlfriend, and yet I find myself still thinking about her. All the time. About the first time we met. About the time we were making love and her girls knocked on the door (actually that was more than once, but we won’t go there). About the last time I kissed her before she drove off one direction and I, the other. About how perfect everything seems in hindsight.
And perhaps, I find myself thinking about getting the hell out of Dodge and starting fresh somewhere else, where I don’t feel like I’m stagnating under a soaking wool blanket, choking on the acrid taste of an unrealised life.
