I.E.D. Heartbomb

And this whole time, for over a year now, I had wanted to see her again; just a glance, anonymously, from across a street or from a window. Just to update the memory files. I didn’t want to interact, really, since I could bring nothing good to the table except for a reminder of how fucking stupid I am.
So it comes to pass that I did get to see her, accidentally, at an art gallery thing downtown. I knew it was her from the sound of her laugh, the way she held herself, her shoes, that particular shine to her hair that I was so familiar with, and all of my longings to just see her again, to see her million dollar smile, reared up and kicked me in the heart. That desire that I had harbored for so long turned to queasiness, fear, and shame. My pulse rocketed up, sweat appeared, I got a little tunnel vision, and I told my friends in as few words as possible that I would meet them at the bar up the street, to take their time. I had to get out of there before she saw me, and considering my condition it was a miracle that I somehow managed to pull that off.
I firmly believe that if there was video surveillance footage of the incident, all silent and grainy, black and white with a running time stamp at the bottom, you’d see me see her, then there’d be a beat, then I’d just disappear into a small cloud of idiot, leaving a puddle of stupid and shame behind. Well, not really a puddle; just a misting, a barely noticeable condensation on the windows.
I got my vision back about a block later and regained some of my senses. Hands shaking, heart quaking, I had to sit down, feet in the gutter, and take a second to get my shit together.
Sitting there on that curb I felt just as selfish, assholish, and fucked up then as I did when I had shit the bed the last time I saw her.
On that big Cosmic Report Card in the Sky, there’s a massive “F” on mine. I also failed math, but strangely I got a “C+” in English so things can’t be all that bad.