It Doesn’t Mean Anything

I thought I saw you at the SURP library yesterday, sitting at one of the carrels by the sun shaded window. You were shrouded by your own bubble of iPod music while burying your face under a site planning book. I felt my heart leap, if only for a fraction of a second, only to be dragged back into the reality that meeting you in such place is remotely impossible.

I’m well aware that this nostalgia is utter bull shit. I’m using you, yet again, to make myself feel things I haven’t felt in a long while. I’ve had my own share of limerence, but they all ended up either half – baked and bland, or altogether non – existent.

But I had for you may be deemed as the most unadulterated love I could ever yield. I willingly threw logic out of the window, and put myself out in the open, vulnerable to a wide array of emotions.

Somehow, I still dream of our next encounter. It would be a celluloid moment, having people walk in slow motion as our eyes meet. There won’t be any verbal discourse, only a few seconds of soul – piercing stares, just like the old times.

And that would, perhaps, be the ultimate closure.

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