I pretend that I can’t remember her cat-patterned sweater or her flip flops in winter or her shrill laughter that bubbled over the edges of the hallway when we walked to class. I unwind my memories. Corrupt the files. Delete. I burst into tears on the 9:06 train to school. I burst into tears on the 8:44 train home. I cry in public. I become someone who …
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