I was the one peering in your window last night. I could see between those corny clings you pasted on last week. Snowflakes. Who decorates with snowflakes in the middle of an August heat wave? I only started watching because I saw your reflection. You were wearing that Aerosmith tee-shirt from our concert, clipping your toenails over a pink trashcan. Revolting. I know you saw me. Dripping wet, back lit by the passing tractor trailers. I could see your mirror image glare at me in all my pathetic glory. I didn’t know what to do. That’s why I blew you a kiss. A goodbye, good luck, and good night kiss. Revolting.

It had been raining for a week. The trees dripped and whispered that a little sprinkle was ok, but this was getting ridiculous. I agreed. I hated running in the rain. And I swore that a little wet never hurt anyone. So I continued to run and the sky continued to pour down it's annoyance. Nothing good came out of it. Not even Noah.

I had met him at the one and only coffee shop the town had. He was the guy behind the counter. I ordered a regular coffee, he put cream in it. My first reaction was that he was an asshole, but appearantly this is normal from whatever planet he landed from. But we talked, he was cute, he thought I was cute, we went to a cute movie and had a cute dinner at a cute diner. Cute. So fucking adorable.

I could predict the future. I knew what was going to happen. We'd be happy for a short period of time then boredom would set in on one of our parts, there'd be roaming eyes for a little while and then we'd split up. So I cut the cuteness short. But he didn't seem to get the message.

My phone buzzed the do-do-doo! Charge! ring that mant I had a text. I hated my phone. But it was a necessary evil. One new message from Noah. I should've deleted his number so I could ignore it without feeling terrible. I could honestly say I didn't know who it was. I clicked 'view now'.

"Hey Babe" I hated when guys called me that "you dropped off the face of the earth" and you still didn't get the hint "where'd you go? We should do lunch."

My response: "Don't call me babe. I'm anorexic, you ass. I don't eat lunch." I didn't have time to be polite. Not while in the future he was scoping out his future wifey while I tagged along like a dimwit. My phone Charge!d again.

"Then let's go for a walk."

"I hate exercising."

"A movie?"

"Gives me headaches." Was he stupid?

"Could you at least open your door? It's raining." ....What?

I ran up the stairs and pulled open the front door. Noah stood there, sopping wet. His blue shirt hugged his scrawny torso and I could count the hairs on his not-so-five-o'clock shadow. I ignored the skip in my pulse. What was he doing here? Couldn't he see Apocalypse written on my forehead?

Release (I knew it was the end [of something special])

You couldn't have known (Did you?)

I never (ever) said that I loved you

(So you couldn't know [Right?])

We were just (best) friends.

It's not a big deal (It's huge. [I'm crushed])

So it's just a big release

(I would have held on [forever])

Sometimes I felt like I was faking hating him. I mean, did I really want him out of my life? He had been such a big part for the past two years. He brought his drama, his women, his friends, and his wine into my life. Sure, we fought, but it was always resolved over some tequila and cards. So why was this time different?

I flipped my phone open and shut, the click punctuating my thoughts. I couldn’t just text him. He wouldn’t answer. I couldn’t call him either. Then I’d sound desperate.  Open. Click shut. I needed a plan. I needed to be his. I needed to be needed. Open. Click shut. My phone buzzed in my hand. It wasn’t him. I knew it wasn’t. Open. Click shut. No one else mattered.

We had so many stupid fights. We argued all the time about the weather and the CIA and how to solve world hunger. We bickered about his Girl Problems and how he would never be satisfied or stop being shallow. We disputed my Boy Problems and how I didn’t know what I wanted. Sometimes we’d stop talking for months after a few quarrels. Open. Click shut. My mother was calling me, probably wondering why I hadn’t contacted her for a week. I let the phone ring. She always had so many questions.

What was I up to Why hadn’t I called Where was I When was I coming home Didn’t I know this was pointless Didn’t I know I couldn’t run from my problems Can’t I grow up? The call went to voicemail and the recording took note of her complaints. I’d delete the message later before I even listened to it. I was up to trying to figure out my life. I hadn’t called because I knew I couldn’t tell her what was wrong with me. I didn’t even know. I didn’t plan on ever going home. I liked it 359 miles away from the stone houses I grew up by, far from the brick apartment buildings and Scientology place across the street from where I lived now. I did know I couldn’t run from my problems, and I wasn’t. I, in fact, was running towards them at top speed, embracing their ugly truth. I refused to grow up. One new voicemail. Open. Click shut.

My curious sun

It's been a moon since our last

Why didn't you call?