I stole furtive glances and my heart pounded. Biting the space in between my thumb and forefinger, I hope the moment would pass quickly. A glance returned shoots ice into my heart. I bite harder. Closing my eyes, I silently pray for the blood to return to my face. The moment passes. My pulse slowly returns to normal. The taste of bitter disappointment lingers in my veins. I close my eyes again. Steady my hands. Take a deep breath. Look up at the door and realize all that is left is that deep bitter taste. A moment flashes: quietly brushing my hair away from my neck, whispering my name, green eyes and yellow legal pads in coffee shops. And then it is gone, just like you.
On Monday nights I walk home smelling like coffee and bleach. I walk home with my nerves frayed the way that only cute boys and good coffee can make you feel. I walk home with my eyes turned towards the heavens. Each breath exhales all of the worries of the world. The cuts and bruises don’t hurt so much on that walk home; the cute boys with pretty girls, the incomplete assignments, the fair-weather friends. Tonight I will walk home and each breath will hurt. Each star winking coyly will ask the same question. Why. Why. Why. Why. My glacial fingers will intertwine and will silently plead for an answer from the stars. All-knowing they wink back. Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out. I will close my eyes and my heart will cry out. Why. Why. Why. Why.
I forgot your birthday this year. It slipped past me unannounced. I know the date just like I know your number and your middle name. If I were to make a list of “things I know about you” it would be near the top. It would be on the page next to “things I’ve always wanted to say to you but never been brave enough to” and before the “songs that make me think of you” page. Time has a funny way of taking the things and people we know best and making them unfamiliar all over again. I imagine that seeing you again would be a punch to the stomach and after our “hellos” and “how are yous” we’d realize that there is nothing left to say. I would smile at you and perhaps with a tear sliding down my cheek, I’d grab your hand and squeeze it extra tight as if to say IhopeyouarehappypleaseforgivemeIhavealwayslovedyou .Then you’d look at me with those piercing eyes and understand. You’d kiss me on the cheek and walk away. Maybe instead I’d see you and start yelling or better yet I would burst into tears. Maybe I’d run away and you’d have to come find me. Or not. Maybe I would see you and want to kiss you and hold you really tight and never let you go. Maybe I’d feel all of these things and just stand there awkwardly gaping at you, my seventeen different emotional states all pulling me in different directions so that I’d end up standing still. The reality is that I forgot your birthday this year. Slowly the list of things I know about you will grow shorter until I am sitting in a room full of empty sheets of crumpled paper. And that is okay.
