There you were.
Walking toward us with halo over your head,
like some Greek god
taking the afternoon off from deity duties.

Same crooked smile.
Same punchy style.
God, you still looked good.
I can give you that.

There was a time the sight of you
sent butterflies rioting against my ribs.
This time?
Crickets.

I almost laughed at how ordinary it felt.
You smiled. I smiled back.
Look at us:
two people behaving normally
after once knowing where to place our hands.

You asked if I wanted tea.
Of course you did. 
You loved tea, and once,
I would have let you order for me
and called it "knowing."

"No, thanks. Club soda is fine."
You looked surprised.
Such a small thing to learn
about someone you used to know by heart.

Later, you picked up a guitar.
A few chords.
Once, I would have watched your hands. 
This time my mind went elsewhere...
to songs written since you,
to voices I have learned by heart. 

You kept playing.
I let you.
Then asked if I needed a book.
I had to laugh.
The favorite one you gave me
met Milo somewhere along the way.
My brother's dog had excellent taste, I guess. 
He left the cover
and made a mess of the rest.

You offered to get me another .
I shook my head.
"I write one now."
You smiled.
For a second, I wondered 
which version of me you were looking at:

The girl who kept your book like evidence?
The girl who could hear three guitar chords and
turn them into a love story?
Or the woman sitting across from you 
with club soda in her hands?

You hadn't become uglier.
I just stopped making you beautiful.
There you were, stilll handsome, familiar,
wearing that crooked smile
that once made me think 
the universe had excellent taste.

We said goodbye.
As simple as that.
I went home with bubbles on my tongue,
another song in my head,
and pages of my own waiting on my desk.