Apologies and anger.
There is civility and quiet,
Behind which there is resentment,
A soft, rattling anger that flared up at the site of him.
The sight of light glaring on lenses.
The sound of a flopping, flailing laugh that makes his back hunch.
It all makes me walk a bit faster,
Makes me stomp my boots a bit harder.
Maybe I speed up to avoid him,
Maybe I stomp to bother him like he bothers me.
It doesn't feel real,
How he knows everything about me,
About my mental state and the state of my home,
And he hasn't even talked to me since October.
Things are not the same.
He isn't,
I'm not.
He's met new people,
Moved on indefinitely.
And then there is me.
Sitting on my living room floor,
Typing untill my fingers ache,
Scratching and scrabbling for the right words that I can never actually say.
Things I could not express, leaving them unspoken.
Civility and resentment.
Longing and jealousy.
Nostalgia and loss.
Anger and Apologies.
