Whenever I walk down the crowded streets of New York, or when I'm on the train, or when I randomly happen to see myself still existing on bricks and mortar as I swim past all the din of the city, I remember..."I lived here".
I remember that there was once a girl who lived this life.
My East Coast past never seems to sink in and most of the time it all feels like a dream - a dream that, when in the moment, didn't feel like it was ever going to end and now that it's over doesn't feel like it ever really happened at all.
1 comment:
That's the thing about past lives. I feel the same way with people I used to know. It's weird knowing that someone I was once so close to is not a practical stranger to me.
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