Hello, stranger.

Has it really been this long?
You don’t look or seem any different.
And I can’t tell from where I stand,
but I’m almost positive you don’t feel any different.
Your sun-bleached soft brown hair still falls below your shoulders.
Your eyes still wander for just the right answers. Your smile still fades
every time the laughter does. Looking at you makes me think
time’s been at a stand still since the moment you left.

But, I digress.
It was my fault you left.
I let you go.
I didn’t yell your name,
I didn’t write you a song convincing you to come back,
I didn’t plan on casually bumping into you at your favorite fast food joint
on your breaks from work.
Then again, I didn’t plan on you leaving me.

The words you said that day still ring victorious in my ears.
I can remember the feeling of blood pulsing through my veins
and slowly coming to a stop,
every vessel exploding… every vein imploding.
I can still see the look on your face when you said those words;
you looked as if you couldn’t believe they were your own.
Well, they weren’t your own…
no, I don’t believe so.
I can still remember the way the door slammed…
it was like a death sentence,
a judge telling me what my fate was:
A life without love.

For the past 6 months since you left,
I’ve been reliving the day I met you over and over again,
looking for some answers.
Looking to find the reason we met.
As I review it, the answers still stay hidden.
We met because you lost your car keys,
we met because you needed help.
I helped you because the look in your eyes was a look I felt sick seeing,
and ever since then it was my vow to make that look stay merely on the day
we met;
to never return.
But, with time… that look returned.
Again, and again, and again.
Like a lullaby a mother sings to her child…
slowly becoming more familiar.

Seeing you standing there,
in front of the counter of your favorite fast food joint,
ordering the classic “Number 11 without cheese” makes me shudder.
And after you leave, I go over there to examine it myself.
Searching in the menu for some answers as you to why you left.
Why I couldn’t be good enough.
The cashier repeatedly asked what he could get for me today.

Simply, I answered. “A number 11, without cheese.”

 
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