I found myself by your old apartment. I remember the first time I had trudged up these stairs, the first time my hands had touched the bronze **** to open your front door. Being here, again, was not the same. You were not here.
I knocked on the front door, greeted by your old roommate, who had the same delightful grin plastered on his bearded mouth. Shuffling my feet, He invited me in. The walls were bare, carefully decorated with about a dozen records, a few art pieces, and a large illuminated OPEN sign. It looked different than before when you were here.
I sat on the couch as he made me a cup of coffee; I imagined you laying me carefully on the stained, white couch. What would it be like to look into your eyes again? I want to see if you could see through my eyes, and if I could do the same. I let myself onto your balcony to smoke a cigarette. The smoke danced around my fingertips as I leaned against the railing, and looked over my shoulder, in the corner, where I remember the first time I wanted to kiss you.
A few years ago, at one of your swanky parties, I was standing on the balcony looking into the party through the glass doors. You were across the room, talking to a young woman with a smile playing on your mouth. You looked so completely engaged in what she was saying, and your eyes gleamed as you looked at her and touched her softly. What would I have to do to be that woman, so that I may grasp your face between my delicate hands and kiss you, because of how beautiful you were.
As a bid your old roommate goodbye, I also said goodbye to the building where I had fallen for you. Perhaps it is good that I did this, so that I can let go of whatever I thought we could have been.