Lungs.

It didn't bother me when we were talking. It didn't bother me when I walked back to the apartment, phone on my ear. It only bothered me when I sat down. When I stopped moving and reality caught up to me, it struck, and the smile that was on my face wilted quicker than a cala lily at a funeral. Why did you have to honk at me? Why did you have to step out of your car to talk? What compelled you-- our friendship? Maybe it'd be easier if we weren't friends, because when I asked you what you were doing, you said you were waiting for Her. And when we parted ways, I told you 'have fun.' I meant it, really.

Some people aren't ready for a girl like me. Serious isn't what they're looking for. I just can't help but wish - belatedly - that when you stooped to look, I was what you found.

I'll get over it eventually, right? But why is fate so conveniently funny? I had calculated: it'd be four days without seeing you. Did running into you today prove that I exist out of This One Place? I wonder if I disturbed your waters as much as you did mine.

What drives you to approach me anyway?

Oh well. Goodnight, moon.