He left me, again.
Arms wrapped around my knees, I look out to the window. The sun is blinding me. The white room does not help my situation either. I squint. I close my eyes.
There it goes. A snapshot from last night plastered in the back of my mind.
I looked happy. I looked content.
There it goes again. Another mental photo.
I am at the bar getting my usual drink, vodka-cranberry-sprite. Arms laced around me, I was satisfied.
Again? How many mental snapshots did I take?
I am sitting on the couch. It was sweet.
I’m by my bedroom door. We kissed.
This is too much. It’s blinding.
I wake up to the soft deep breaths with the outpour of the morning light.
It is peaceful. If only I could make the time stop. If only I could prolong that moment. If only I could make it happen again and again. I would have something to keep me alive. But now, he left. I am about to head out. Back to the reality that I’ve escaped from. Back to the pressures of tangible rewards. Back to the wonders and horrors of life. When will I see him again? To stop time for me. To let me recuperate from stressful situations I put myself in daily. Hopefully soon. But then, time is against me once more. I worry not about seeing him this week, but rather, I worry about the possibilities of seeing him in the long-run. Am I falling for that silly little fantasy love trap again? I’ve already done that last spring. This year should be different. I should not expect anything. I should not even think about it. But, a big part of me wants to be in his presence. It matters not that we talk or interact. I just feel the want to be around him. The warmth. The gentleness. The sweet taste of desire. All things adding up. Complementing each other.
I sit here thinking about the contradicting tides of emotion and logic.
I sit here looking at the past. Feeling the present. Imagining the future.
I sit here with the snapshot of his back as he waltzes out the door.
He left me, again.

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