You're Not the One

You're not him.
You're not her.

I haven't seen you in years.
It's been six years since we were together.
Here are somethings I remember about us.
Kissing you in the hallway of the hotel.
Falling asleep in the hallway.
Waking up smiling every day we were together.
You flying in for my graduation.
Being angry with you for being so weak.
Giving you up for GP.
Kissing GP in the back of his truck when I should have been kissing you.
You teaching me how to get a six pack.
You living in CO.

When you showed up I was just glad it wasn't awkward. And I imagine that in any group two people who used to be what we were would notice each other more than anyone else.

I didn't know that when you showed up that it would be like that. I didn't know you still felt that way. What about her. What about him? I'm not happy but you swear you are. And she is young and pretty and sweet, I'm sure. Well, I know she is fucking young. Not a boost for my ego, by the way, to think of her body compared to mine and you seeing both of them. I hate to think that her tits are nicer than mine, or her stomach is flatter, or even that those dimples on my ass haven't snuck onto hers yet. I know what its like to be 20- your body is perfect and you don't even know it. Bloody bitch.

I am not the girl that got away. I don't think. Although, I guess I did get away. I think I just said that to make you feel better. And me too. To feel less guilty, really. I can't remember where it switched over, where the intimacy began. I can't think of the moment where we went from friends with distance and trepidation to touching, bodies orbiting each other. Maybe it only switched for you, and your pull and suggestions and hold on the part of me that used to be yours just took me along for the ride so that when I came out of the bathroom and you were standing there the only logical thing to do was kiss you. Smash into you and hold on for dear life.

It does not escape me that you haven't called. I know that maybe you can't because of her. But i think that maybe this is your way of getting back at me for doing this to you years ago. and I know that this will fade and then I wont think about you again for awhile.

It doesn't escape me that maybe Sunday was just loneliness. I am horribly, terribly, bitterly lonely. It was easier when we were drunk. And if you had left it at that we could have pretended it was only a drunken mistake. But there was Sunday. I have never wanted so much to press against someone and feel their body against mine. I have never wanted so much to be near someone. Of course it doesn't hurt that it was you. That you are like a rock. You did not get fat. (Ha, neither did I and thank god for it.) That my body remembered yours and immediatly craved all the things that I never had from you. I forgot how young we were and how little we actually did sexually. You were right- you are not that innocent anymore. But you do still have that oral fetish that I forgot about. I knew you would want to go down on me. I knew when I was showering. I shaved just to be ready, in case. I could hear your voice in my head saying "I want to taste you." How can she not like it? Idiot.

Here's the thing. Were not going to be together and you certainly can't talk to me. When you said that you would think about me and I said you wouldn't I didn't know that I would. And damn it all to fucking hell, but you cant hire me now. And why did you ever tell her about me? I can't even slip you a note. She knows who I am and what we were. And do you really not lie to her? What now? You didn't tell her I was there for a reason, I think. You'll have to lie to her now. Even if it is by omission. But if what we stole was only a flashback then maybe it doesn't matter.

I wonder if she saw the marks on your back.