I thought about this moment, the moment I’d run into you again. I wondered what I’d say, how I’d look, how you’d look. I pondered if it would be over drinks. If we’d be older, more mature. Would we talk about our jobs? Our lives post college? Or would we be stuck in the past reminiscing over what once was.
It had been years since we talked. Since we were young, taking shots in our apartments. Talking about futures, like we even had a clue. I was going to become a CEO – you’d be the first person I’d text. You’d eventually start your own company. We’d travel. Enjoy all the little things.
It had been years when I saw you standing there. In that bar. My bar.
I debated walking up. Telling you you were wrong. Asking if you were happy. Asking if you missed me.
I debated kissing you. Telling you I still needed you.
I debated leaving. Grabbing my Uber and letting you win.
I debated it all.
But, nothing seemed right. No option seemed fair.
I saw you standing there. Your friends had changed. It was no longer the regulars I remembered from our days spent binge drinking while cramming for exams.
You looked different. More put together.
I looked different. Felt entirely different too. I was standing there, glass of wine in hand, instead of my usual amfs, four shots deep.
I had three choices.
To confront you and tell you I still missed you. That I still crave your body against mine.
To run, like I always did. To call my Uber and choose to leave you a memory stuck in the past.
Or to confront you and tell you you fucked up. You lost out on something amazing because you were scared. A coward.
I decided to take the latter. I don’t know if this is healing. Maybe I no longer care about you. Or maybe, it’s my way of holding on just a bit more.