I saw you again today.
You were walking down the street, with a cup of latte in your hand. You were talking on the phone, apparently trying to explain something to someone.
You got so caught up in it that you started moving your hands around, the way you did when you got so engrossed in explaining something. You didn’t realize that you had spilled coffee everywhere until it had seeped through your jeans and you felt it burn.
The look of horror on your face was priceless!
You danced around for a whole minute, trying to figure out what to do next. You were looking around, I guess searching for a place to go to wash up when you looked my way.
I slouched low in my seat, trying to avoid being spotted by you. My heart was thumping so loud in my chest that I thought I was going to burst. But then you looked away. You hadn’t noticed me. And even though it was what I wanted, and was probably for the best, my heart sank so low in my chest.
I wanted to look away so badly. I wanted to get up from that booth, pay for my burger and get the heck out of there, I wanted to just vanish. I did not want to keep looking at you. However, I just couldn’t tear off my gaze from you.
You were standing right there, and yet you were a billion light years away. I could’ve walked up to you and small talked with you but I just couldn’t.
Because I remembered the last time I did that. It was like a hole burned in the back of my mind. I remembered how you couldn’t even look at me in the eye for more than two seconds. I remembered how you had acted like nothing had ever happened, like we had never happened.
I also remembered the hint of guilt in your eyes. I didn’t want to see that guilt again. It made me feel like I had been at fault, when in reality, we both knew whose mistakes had caused this. And yet, after everything you did, I still couldn’t tear my gaze from you.
Because sitting here in this booth, to me you were still the most magnificent creature in this world and, without an ounce of doubt, the best thing that had ever happened to me.