The road not taken

My palms were sweaty, and words stuck in my throat. My eyes—well, they couldn’t be bothered to do what I had practiced them doing. I couldn't look at you; I couldn't let you see this longing, this feeling of loss since the day you left. You had picked up your keys off the table, paused at the door, and sighed. You didn't look back, nor did you say a word. You just stood there, as if deciding between two impossible tasks. I never thought you would leave. I'll admit it plainly here—I got cocky, full of myself. I was certain you would do anything but leave. But you left.

So here I am, playing out my Hollywood moment—the one where I tell the truth about how it's been since you left. This is the part that gets the audience tearing up, but the words won't come out, and my eyes won't look up.

"I came here to say," I start, but barely manage to finish the sentence. My mind is running a million miles a minute.

Of course, I want him back. I mean, I love him, but what am I even doing here? What if he says 'no'? He probably thinks I'm an idiot, someone without options. I do have options. Lol. I think.

"I guess what I really wanted to say is," I try again, my voice sounding like I'm 12 or something. Why does it always do that? Why does she show up every time I'm trying to say something really important? Why can't I just get this bloody thing over and done with? So what if he says 'no'? You tried, right? Life is about trying. Life is about throwing caution to the wind and just doing the thing. What's that they say about lying on your deathbed and having no regrets?

"Look, S... since you left, I've been sort of," I say while fidgeting with my hands. You used to hate it when I'd do that. I have this nervous habit of fidgeting with my hands or fingers when I'm trying to avoid having a difficult conversation. Why can't I keep my hands still?

What do I really hope will come out of this? He's a man. Men are hunters and gatherers or whatever. They need to chase things. They need to chase, catch, and kill—proverbially, of course. Except for Jeffrey Dahmer, Charles Manson... oh, and the Zodiac killer. Why am I listing serial killers? I really need to stop watching true crime.

Focus, damn it! Just get the stupid words out. Get rejected, then go home and cry. No, first say the words, get rejected, go to the supermarket to buy the 'lonely starter kit' items, then go home and cry.

"S, what it all really comes down to is this. I just want to say that..."

Say it, say it, say it. Say it before he leaves. The worst thing you could do now is not say it after almost saying it. So say it, damn it. He really does have the most beautiful lips, and those eyes—those deep, soulful eyes...

No, stop it. Focus. Say it.

"You know what, I'm sorry to have wasted your time. I just wanted you to know that I still have some of your stuff at the apartment, and I'd like to send your boda guy by."

"Jeez, I'm late for work. I've gotta go. Good seeing you."

THE END