If you could only see me now. Two days later and I’m still rehearsing your words in my mind and picturing your face as you said them. But here, of all places, I shouldn’t think of such things.

And I look at him, across the room, playing the fool. The room is full of his so-called friends, people he courts to maintain his own illusions of status and popularity. We buy them off with fancy parties and placate them with referals from the family business. But I look at him and shudder. I wish you were here.

Again, my mind swims in the deliciousness of your smile after I expressed my love for you. The room spins, and the idle talk fades away in the din of emotion. My body longs for your touch. My lips long to taste you. My legs ache to run to you.

But I can’t be with you tonight, never really with you, completely with you. My heart breaks all over again, but I smile and make nice, comment on the hors d’eouvres. No one knows. He certainly doesn’t know. I know I don’t.