In the midst of the morning, while the people are all groggy and muffled from the peak of the morning. I’m alert, on constant guard; for you are near.
Each morning, I cast about the lot for a car. A familiar car. One that carries a memory. I smile from the nostalgia. I purposefully drive to school late, perhaps to avoid you. To avoid the uncomfortable confrontation. You were late that morning. It was inevitable.
My heart is palpitating, my mind is racing as a known silhouette approaches to my peripheral sight. The usual controversy came to mind of “do I ignore you and pretend I didn’t see you?” or make an overzealous gesture. Decisions, decisions.
As you and I approached closer and nearer, I attempted to remain calm. I couldn’t help but wonder if you were contemplating as much in your head as was I. I heard someone call my name, a voice I haven’t heard in so long. The fluidity of your voice took my breath away. I had nothing left but a smile, a wave, and a solemn hello.
You were looking at me with that look on your face. Just like old times.
I had a dream that you had a lover. I watched the intimacy you had for one another from afar, like a passing ghost. I was taken back at the twinging pain I had felt seeing you together. I thought I was done with the self affliction . Realizing I had no significance there, I departed. But I was soon at halt by someone grasping my hand. I turned around and saw you and your lover kiss. You were holding my hand meanwhile.
It was strange that of all the times I managed to push you away into the depths of my unconscious, onto the shelves of dilemmas to deal with later; you have risen to my subconscious. Perhaps to taunt me.
I woke up and couldn’t help to wonder why your presence, once again, had managed to waltz into my head. I tried my best to dismiss the contemplation that came naturally, the possibility that I might still have feelings for you. Vice versa.
Perhaps this is the outcome of my wishful thinking. The thought that perhaps you’ve been acting the way you’ve been to possibly convince yourself, as well as myself, that you no longer care for me. The thought that perhaps there’s more to our story than we both realize.