We two should never have met. Some quirk of cosmic happenstance caused paths to cross that day. I was looking for the best linguini money could buy. You weren’t looking at all. Our collision at the corner of 5th and Tambour took us by surprise. I wanted to wallop you for not watching where you were going.
Then I saw your eyes. They held that curious shade of cloudy blue, like summer skies on the prairie before a thunderstorm. My heart gave leap as I heard my voice respond “It’s OK”, at your hasty apology.
But it was not OK. Not then. Not now.
Despite the sparks at your first touch, when offering a hand to steady me, nothing more should have happened – nothing beyond a nod and curt response to send us on our ways.
But paths had crossed, contact was made, and fate would have her due.
We schemed to spend free seconds feeding our infatuation’s hunger, learning every secret that new lovers want to know.
Mere two weeks in I realized the folly of my choice. Nothing real could grow between us. I, hard charging towards my dream had little time for you who lazed content, taking life without a care. Oil and water mixed better than we two.
I planned that night to tell you over dinner. Platitudes rehearsed themselves to soothe your disappointment – a sort of salve for heartbreak, fully encouraging you to move on to better things.
Imagine my surprise arriving home to find a note, tacked upon my door. It read:
"I’m gone – for good. You'd want to keep me. I'd want to be kept. What a disaster that would be."