Fine. I’ll sit here and drink coffee and nibble on medialunas, scroll thru my timeline and not think of you. Not think of you not thinking about me. What is this, some juvenile high school relationship where I react to your misguided actions? Whatever. I don’t like you anyway. Yeah I do, I want to be wanted. I still hear your voices, here comes another crowd, protests are happening all day, all over the city. I want to be heard, felt, liked, and loved. Shit, I want to be seen, I want my voice to coincide with yours I don’t want to out shine you, I want to walk with you, ride with you thrive with you win with you! What the …  ? How do you not see that, how can you not look past what I look like? Is this 1960 something and I’m not aware, am I in a different space and time did I travel back and not realize it? It all looks like 2017, but it doesn’t feel like it. Let me not over think this, actually no this is on my mind … heavy. I’m done sipping my coffee, done eating the pastry. I get up, and before I grab my coat two women take my table and sit down all while I’m standing right there. Not a hello. No excuse me, no “como estas?” nothing. Again, I’m invisible. I’m ready to go home. Don’t cry for me Argentina.



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