Ordering their drink again. It doesn't even taste good. Just tastes like…missing. like a ghost of a flavor on my tongue. The bartender doesn't even ask anymore. Just nods, pours. Maybe he sees it too. Sees the empty chair beside me, the way my eyes keep drifting to the door, looking for someone who won't walk in. I hate this city sometimes. Every street, every corner, every damn thing is a memory now, a knife twisting. but leaving feels worse. feels like i'm leaving them. like i'm forgetting. and i can't, i WON'T.