Today on the train that song came up on my Spotify.
The one I was listening to on repeat in the months after we broke up.
After we broke up for real, that is, if we ever really did. 

I listened to it, and while I listened, I looked down and realized that I was wearing the same coat I wore back then.
The one I was wearing on those early mornings in Kreuzberg where I would sneak in a good cry on my walk between the U-Bahn and work, as I struggled to move on.
To go on.

All those months. Months that eventually turned into years.
Years that went on and on like a timer on a stopwatch that was always counting the minutes, the seconds, the hours until I finally hit the “stop” button last week. 

Back in the present, an all too familiar lump started to form in my throat and I thought:
“Can this really be right? More than four years later, having done so much work to grow, to evolve, to heal, and here I am, in the same place, about to cry in public over the same guy. Wearing the same coat. Wearing the same damn coat?!” 

Then another thought. 
Nothing changes if nothing changes. 
And I skipped the song.