Unscripted

I resent being back here. My mind wanders to really happy places, doesn't even wish to leave them. This one night you declined a ride home, and I understood, we stood there like a movie, everything was a bit confusing but symmetrical and beautiful. You kissed me on the cheek before looking to see the look on my face, and before walking away. Or when you were in my car and I took the wrong way to your house, or looking for you in the snow. Or the months standing there idly, like an unfinished cigarette in sand, waiting for you to pick me up, not even knowing if you saw me. All the miscommunication, the poor communication, when I thought you were hiding and you thought I ran away. We still think that. I don't even know if I want to stop thinking about it enough to think of anyone else. No one comes close, but we're still each other.