I saw her today at a wedding. She still looked as gorgeous as ever, a few weight gained which made her figure less fragile-looking, closer to the “her” when we first met 7 years ago. She spotted me going up the escalator & took my hand. She asked if I had been working too hard due to my noticable weight loss.
It must have been a year. Lots had happened. She’d finished her Master degree and landed a good job in the media. The matching tattoo had been touched up. She had been separated from her husband, which I had learnt and felt more content, and then now reconnected with him again, which, of course, bothered me a little. That night when she tried to cut herself seemed to be a forever ago for her already but it wasn’t for me.
There were tears in her eyes watching the friend who were with us that summer night walking down the aisle. It was a few years ago that I saw the same tears rolling at a wedding, her wedding. The only thing different is this time, I knew it wasn’t partly for me. My hand tried reaching out to find hers but, just like the past story, it only managed to get halfway.
“I miss you,” she told me while grabbing my arms, or at least that’s what I figured out in the midst of all the people’s talkings and runnings. Keeping people around, that’s part of her natural allure but also what kills.