I had a dream about you, the other night. I saw you in a French cinema as it ended and I walked out, strolling along the Seine river. And you chased after me, the way you did so many years ago, put your hand on my shoulder. We chatted awkwardly, then fell back into that ease we always had, and you smiled, and you asked me where I was going. To a bakery, of course. You came along and we walked beside one another, and you filled a hole inside me that I didn't know was there, again.
"I'm glad you're here," I said to you, "I'm glad you found me."
I miss you.
More and more, with every day that goes by.
I had a dream about you, too.
Immediately after Parisian walks, I dreamt we met at a party. Figures. I saw you approaching, so surprisingly friendly. I tried, so hard, to ignore you. Pretend like I was preoccupied. Walked out of the room when you skipped in. But you eventually turned me around with a smile, put your hand on my shoulder, and I felt it creep around my neck, even.
I know, though, you know.
I'm not stupid. I do know.
I know we could've been, genuinely, very very good together.
If you weren't such a horrible person, and everything that I hate about people in general,
I think we could've been very very good together.
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