We barely spoke all break. I don’t even know your schedule this semester. You texted me the other night asking for mine; you didn’t text back yours.
I guess I’ll just see you when I see you. No planned meals or study groups. That’s cool.
Before break, I saw you at finals. Our English final. I was two table behind you. I know you saw me; you stood up, pushed in your chair, grabbed your bag (the green one with a silver gun design, made with gemstones, on the side), looked back, looked at me, rolled your eyes and walked off.
I know at this point, saying hello is optional. Greeting one another with a hug used to be mandatory.
Last night I had a dream about you. We were sitting on my bed. My laptop was on my desk charging; its mouth was open, moaning music: Eminem or Gym Class Heroes. We were sitting there, with your hand in mine, our backs against the wall, my shoes off, yours on. You looked over at me. I smiled. You smirked. You let go of my hand and said, “I’m lying to you.”
I kinda wish I wrote down everything you’ve said to me. I wish I could at least remember the specific date. The time is easy. You always talk the most between ten and one.
One night you told me that you wished your girlfriend (well not really your girlfriend; more like someone who wishes to be with you) would stop smoking. You hate the smell of a freshly-lit cigarette. You said it tasted like you were sucking a gas nozzle whenever you two kissed. I’ve always been too scared to tell you that I don’t smoke. It’s hard to hide something you’re not doing.
This afternoon, I saw you walking across campus. You were wearing a white button-down shirt that revealed your cleavage and golden chain, tight jeans that outlined the crack of your ass, and black sneakers. I barely recognized you. Did you color your hair? Guess not. I always hated your hair when it was up.
I wanted to run over and say something, but I knew that you’d be expecting more: a compliment, question or answer.
You looked like you were in a hurry anyway.
I did bump into you after dinner though. Your hair was down, but your shirt was still unbuttoned.
We hugged and you smelled like cigarettes.