The Other

We saw each other.

He reminded me how long you and I hadn’t seen one another.

He was taller, but he made me fall even harder.

He was fun to talk to, he was unknowingly trying hard to not be you.

But he wasn’t, he looked like a distant cousin.

He was taller, you were hotter.

He was a talker, you were a watcher.

You both said “coffee” and “mom” the way people from Chicago do. Blindfolded I may have thought to myself “Who is Who?”

But I knew you were no different. It’s what gives you both equal significance.

You both lied, always found ways to hide.

From the very first moment I saw you, both of you.

You had your back turned to me. Even as he looked into my eyes for the first time, I knew he had a whole life without me to be seen.

I knew it from the beginning. The way you were both grinning.

Grinning at the sight of me. Grinning because you both knew I was there to please. You both knew how to plant your seeds.

As did I.

I pleased your ego. I pleased his mind during our first meal.

I pleased his body. You and I had list after list of shared hobbies.

He joked about meeting his parents. You would never do the same out of fear of the forthcoming emotional wreckage.

He touched my arm and played footies and he drank from his almond latte. You did the same as we talked about your addiction to Yerba Matte.

So similar, but not the same.

So close to me at one point, now you’re both so far away.

So far away. Not visible in any way.

Here I sit with my thoughts, with my memories of how we first saw each other.

Here I sit, wondering and wandering until I meet another.