Would it be different this time?

Even now, after all these years, I still remember you fondly. Well, more than fondly. At times I wonder what I would do if you wanted to get back together. I know you’ve moved on, that odds of such a thing are as close to zero as can be, but still… my mind asks the question.

Would it be different this time? Would I not be insecure? Would I talk to you about what bothered me before resentment poisoned my reactions? Would you hear me and talk back or turn away in anger?

I wonder because, well, for reasons that seem obvious. Anyone would give them. But the same reasons or not, they push me. They are intense and intensely personal.

I didn’t just love you, I loved you more than any other. I didn’t just want you, I let myself need you. You weren’t just beautiful, the sight of you made my heart ache.

It’s too easy to re-experience the feel of you, the taste of you, the scent of you, the sounds you make, the way we fit together.

I miss you. I want you. It scares me.

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