My stomach twists into knots Boy Scouts would
walk away from whenever
I catch a glimpse of his face in a crowd.
I become bipolar at the mere mention
of his existence,
torn between euphoria and indifference.
My thoughts willingly, unwillingly,
drift back to our fleeting moments
spent within each others tangled arms,
thinking we had our future set
in stone.
I want to shrink down to an ant’s size when
he approaches,
wrap my arms around him in the bear hug
greetings he used to give,
evaporate into thin air when we catch
each other’s eye,
tell him my drunken thoughts consist of
the way he held my hand under
the diner table when we were out
with friends.
Perhaps I will never decide on how to feel
when we coexist in the same space, even though
I will
continue to chat idly about
the mundane aspects of my day,
gabbing about nothing interesting
just to hear him talk.