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Months, or Days, or Years

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We were walking. We didn't know where, or when, or why. We just kept walking. It wasn't like there was anything else we could think to do. The only thing I could remember was walking.

Sometimes she would glance over at me. At first, she would try to make it inconspicuous, nonchalantly brushing her hair behind her ear, her eyes briefly flitting towards me before returning to the road ahead of her. Eventually, though, she gave up on trying to hide her motives and would just stare. She must have been wondering who I was. I was wondering the same.

I wasn't sure how long we had been walking. Had it been minutes or hours? Had it been days? Weeks, months, even years? Minutes. We must have been walking for minutes, I thought to myself, but I had a feeling, a feeling that twisted my stomach into knots, a feeling that maybe it hadn't been minutes. It hadn't been days, or weeks, or months.

I could have asked her. At any time, I could have just looked her and asked her anything I wanted to. Who are you? Where are we? How long have we been here? And why? Why are we here? I could have asked her any of these questions, but I didn't. Maybe I didn't care maybe I didn't want to know.

We were walking. We didn't know where, or when, or why. We just kept walking. It wasn't like there was anything else we could think to do. The only thing I could remember was walking.



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