SARADA
January 4th, I'm never going to parties again
I would recognize that messy blond hair even from miles afar.
I wonder if I should've said anything other than "I'm sorry" or show that, in fact, I remembered him—because I do, despite all the efforts to forget his face. I'm haunted by all of the things we never were and I fell into the conclusion that never saying hello is easier than having to say goodbye later. With him, it's invariably a matter of time before the next goodbye. He had always been a traveler, by all meanings.
While he was unable to stay, I was unable to leave.
We are irremediable opposites, being attracted as a destiny's little joke. As following our paths he left—and he is still moving further away—and I stayed. I don't know which one of us is suffering the most; not one day passes by without him wandering through my mind and his eyes told me that he is not much better. Either that or I no longer know how to read him.
He came to me. Maybe I'm just his type of girl, after all, he loved me for at least a short time. It's weird that none of us used our names during the whole conversation. We acted as if we had just met—at some level, after so long, maybe it was a new first time. I left before he could.
On my way out, I wondered if he was seeing someone, if some girl was stupid enough to take the place that should've been mine and doing a better job at it. My brain played tricks again and I thought about coming back—and telling him how madly in love I was and how much I wanted him to deny himself to stay with me—yet I didn't do a thing. I'm proud but not selfish.
That's why parties are dangerous.
That's why I never want to see him again, because I love him and I'm afraid that he might love me as well.