I have shaved. My room has been cleaned and the bed has been made. I am excited as I sit expectantly waiting for her to call.
She does but she says she isn’t coming here.
I am dejected.
She wants me to come there; but I have work to do.
I refuse and she sounds disappointed.
I go back to the clean room, now echoing notes of what-could-have-been. I watch the movie alone, that I had intended to watch with her. I think of the times we have spent together. I want to know what she thinks when she is not looking the other way and feels my eyes on her. What it would feel like to run my fingers through her hair. Doesn’t she know I am aching to touch her lips with mine, to kiss her?
Why is she toying with me?
I started regretting not going.
I wish I could go back.