Again

I used to have this ridiculous daydream that when I finally saw him again, my heart wouldn’t do a full somersault in my chest. That I’d somehow bite my tongue and avert my gaze, and my palms wouldn’t break into a cold sweat. When our eyes did meet, it would be casually. The person I’d be talking to would great him, and we’d be casually drawn into the same conversation. Or we’d bump into each other in the hall and exchange pleasantries. The sort of small talk you have with someone you haven’t seen in over two years but who’s barely crossed your mind.

I should have known I was fooling myself. I know it for certain now, as soon as I catch sight of his all too familiar dark brown hair and that old green sweater he somehow still owns. My heart doesn’t do a somersault in my chest. It stops completely. And right there, in the middle of that ridiculous party with the too-loud music that I didn’t even want to come to, it’s like no time has passed at all.

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