There’s so much to write about you and then literally nothing. You’re the preoccupation that refused to get off the mind space.
Not that you’re present in the specifics. You are all so vague. Like you were.
I’ve replayed that scene. Of how it could have been different. How my fake laughter should have given away the disappointment. And you could SEE.
When you asked rather rhetorically about him, I should have shown my disgust. Not for him. But for the question. Even thrown away the plate of canteen food that was itself hard enough to gulp down. A tantrum or a two. Or just walked away like others had done. To you.
But there I was. Laughing. At my own misery.
Don’t mistake me for your cliche of a good guy. I’m not. Our breed is just scared.
‘… after all this, there is an Us. Of a you and a me. ‘ echoed in the noise.
As I walked back to the class where a C+ desperately wanted to be an A, it was the numbness of the lunch with you that presided over the presentation. Of watching people and reading out the slides. Next. Next. And next.
.. and Scene!