A few dreams died before I saw her again, a necessary evil in the way of things. It was a test of sorts, though I failed it. I wasn't supposed to care anymore. It wasn't supposed to bother me, being around her like that. But that was my mistake.
Lunch was awkward as Hell, full of that meaningless discussion about mutual acquaintances and family, jobs and hobbies, and everything else that we're taught to ask about when we have nothing else to say. I hated being there in that place, with her sitting across from me & pretending everything was alright, eating food that may as well have been cardboard for all the attention I was paying it. And still, I couldn't take my eyes off of her.
Hours later and I should have been long gone, but somehow I was sitting in her kitchen. The party was over, and I'd missed the window to slip out unnoticed. “Go to bed,” I told her, but she refused. I didn't want to be there. We sat there for an age, holding hands and pretending not to. I didn't want to leave. Before I knew what was happening she was back in my arms, and the kiss was everything I wanted it to be.
I didn't need to be there. The weeks that followed were Hell on me, a kiss that set me back 3 months in the process of getting over her. This was meant to be, or this was a mistake. This was what she wanted, or this was her back-up plan. This was insanity, and it all ended without her, but I'll never forget that night. And it was worth it.