I turn left when my destination is right
To feel the thrill of being
Where I am not scheduled
Where no one would think to find me.
I turn around because I remember that you’re not here.
The next wrong turn I make is unintentional
The sting reminds me that lost and found
Aren’t my decisions anymore.
Cursed with being where I am not
And not wanting to be where I am
My eyes slide around the room
Never to settle on the gaze of an acquaintance.
This may be the breaking point.
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