He left me yesterday, and now I can’t remember his name.

I won’t let myself. Absolutely refuse.

Three years of golf clubs, Phillies caps, boxer shorts, concert T-shirts, shaving cream cans, and perfectly crisp white dress shirts all forgotten as they fly out the third-floor apartment window and onto Nassau Street.

No more satellite sports packages or domestic beers in the fridge.

No more unanswered texts.

No more waiting until four a.m.

I can’t remember his name. No.

But I do remember hers.

Giles recently earned an M.A. in English literature at Monmouth University. She enjoys writing fiction.

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