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| We will bump into each other again, but only by chance.Maybe it will be at the gym after you've jogged on the treadmill, perspiration coating your supple skin, your gray sports bra absorbing the stream of sweat trickling between your breasts.Or it might be at that bar we used to frequent, the one with an abundance of cigarette smoke and watery cocktails; perhaps I'll be on my second shot of cognac, wishing it was my seventh.But considering that spending money is your favorite pastime, it will probably be at some suburban mall, close to the food court, with the stale stench of French fries wafting about.You'll be carrying an overpriced purse, several overstuffed shopping bags, and an overbearing attitude that will seem strangely attractive.And it will be you who notices me within the bustling crowd, not vice versa.You will playfully wave to get my attention, and then say my name with both sex appeal and some uncertainty.I will stare at you baffled for a five-second eternity, until I finally exclaim, "No way, it can't be you" Then I'll pronounce your name with an artificial version of joy, in a manner that won't compare to the way that I used to say it. |
| I will stare at you baffled for a five-second eternity, until I finally exclaim, "No way, it can't be you" Then I'll pronounce your name with an artificial version of joy, in a manner that won't compare to the way that I used to say it."Wow, you've barely changed," you'll declare, while your curious eyes wander all over my biceps and then my chest, which will both be as muscular as they were before our breakup."You look terrific," you'll add with a subtle wink."Well you still look great, too," I'll say mischievously.But I won't really mean it.Instead I'll be thinking about how much better you looked before you started acting two-faced, or playing mind games, or hopping in bed with random guys behind my back.But I will admit, albeit only subconsciously, that you don't look bad, especially for a female in her late twenties or early thirties.In fact, if I hadn't already endured the agony of a shitty relationship with you, I would think you looked gorgeous. |
| In fact, if I hadn't already endured the agony of a shitty relationship with you, I would think you looked gorgeous.If it's summer, you'll be wearing a tiny tank top to show off your belly button and that impossibly cute tattoo on your lower back; if it's winter, then you'll have on a cashmere sweater and skintight jeans.You will have done something different to your hair, and I'll be sure to point it out.Your stylist will have recently given you highlights, or cut your hair into a shorter style, or twisted it all into a braid so thick that a small child could swing from it.There will undoubtedly be other men milling around us like scavengers.They will all gawk at your shapely frame and budding lips, and then glare at me, the bastard lucky enough to have seized your complete interest.Awhile back, when I was younger and still awestruck by physical appearances, I would've been nervous talking with a woman of your magnitude.But when I see you again, I will be so numb towards beauty that I'll maintain unflinching eye contact and assume complete control of our conversation. |
| But when I see you again, I will be so numb towards beauty that I'll maintain unflinching eye contact and assume complete control of our conversation.There will be absolutely no revelations about the success that has placed a titanium Swiss timepiece on my wrist, or the corporate management job that has me dressed in designer fashions.We'll only discuss old friends and past activities.I will remain grounded during our discussion, while you'll start to bubble over with nostalgic giddiness.Throughout all this, I will attempt to overlook your obvious flirting, the nonchalant way you'll stroke my wrist with your pinkie finger, the way you'll deliberately move into my personal space as if we were still lovers.I'll try to ignore all your advances, which will make you even more eager to fuck me. But eventually, despite my discipline, I will find myself daydreaming about how fantastic your ass is, how stunning you would look unclothed, and how good it would feel if you would lay down with your legs agape and eagerly pull my erection inside you.After an awkward silence, we'll both say that we better get going in unison.We will pause simultaneously and then stare at each other, looking like two nervous high school kids on a doorstep right before curfew. |
| We will pause simultaneously and then stare at each other, looking like two nervous high school kids on a doorstep right before curfew.You'll feel a revitalized connection with me. You will hint that you're free this weekend, and then volunteer two phone numbers, cell and home.You'll have to ask for mine, and when you do, I'll slip a business card into your neatly manicured hands.I'll claim that it's the best way to touch base with me, and then toss you a friendly smile that has closed more deals than Donald Trump.You will leave my presence optimistic.You'll even turn back to make eye contact once more before we finally go our separate ways.But when you decide to phone me three days later, and twice again the week after that, I won't return your calls, no matter how tempting or overtly sexual your messages will sound.You will believe that it's because you weren't attractive enough, or because you had a sub par hair day, or because you just weren't straightforward enough with your feelings. |
| You will believe that it's because you weren't attractive enough, or because you had a sub par hair day, or because you just weren't straightforward enough with your feelings.But none of those reasons will be valid.You see, I will understand that you won't really want me, but the person I was before, the person who accepted your lies as fact, or the person who bought presents just because you pouted, or the person who accepted all your backtalk without a single protest.So I will never return your calls, but it's only because I refuse to become that person ever again. |
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Last Updated ( Thursday, 17 July 2008 )
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