If you asked me once, "Kailee, why don't you ever write anything for me?" this is for you. It's not about you though, sorry.

     I wasn't looking for anything in particular. Let's say it's a bookstore, but then, knowing me, I would've gone in there knowing what I wanted. Ok, I got the book I wanted, but since it was my day off and I had nothing else to do I was browsing for fun. I glanced around the store like I always do because I'm a.) paranoid and b.) convinced I'll see someone I know. I usually don't, but I always think the time I don't look it'll suprise me. I usually don't these days because I'm in a new place.
     Then I saw you.
     I'm going to say it had been a year, but I'm not very good with time. A year seems long enough for me to be slightly over you, secretly yearning for this run-in, and for my hair to be longer, signifying a passage of time and my new mature self. You didn't know I'd moved. Or you might have heard, but we weren't speaking anymore so why would I think you knew? Regardless, you didn't see me yet, I saw you first. Maybe that's how this all started anyway. Or maybe I'll only ever know my side of the story.
    Deep breath.
    This is usually as far as I get. I imagine I'd start playing with my loose braid (because I braid my hair now that it's long) and picking at my nails because that's an old nervous habit. I resist the urge to phone anyone and tell them about the trainwreck that's about to happen. Because no matter what happens I'm sure I'll still be a little pessimistic in a year and would classify anything as a trainwreck. Some girl friend will tell me I'm being nuts. I will still appreciate it.
     And there you were.
     "Shit." That's what I thought. You saw me and I wasted all of my preperation for witty banter playing with my braid. You're walking closer and, in my mind, you look exactly the same. But you have a new shirt. And you look tired, but healthier I hope. I make that face I make when I want to smile, but I'm pretending to be unaffected. I made it a lot around you. Maybe in a year you'll still recognize it.
     And that's where it ends.
     I want to think we'd have an awkward exchange of "How are you's?" and "How are all those things you wanted to accomplish working out's?" I'll try to sound more put together than I am, but I'm a little more put together than most so I figure we'll break even. You'll have done things I expected and feared. In this moment I remember how I quit smoking so when this is all over I have to leave without a crutch. We'll be newly decorated and make small talk about small things in this big picture. I'll end the conversation earlier than I want to, because you're still hard to leave, and I'm always far too easy to hold on to. You'd walk with me outside, because if anything you were always polite, we'd hug. It'd be the long kind that breaks your heart. I'd will myself not to look back as you walked away. I'd assume you were as unaffected as I tried to seem. I'd wonder where the rest of your day took you.
     And then I'd go home and read my new book. 
     Isn't that the absolute worst way to end this? It doesn't matter, though. None of it does.