And then I sat there with my fingernails freshly painted blue. His pictures were haunting, but in a good way. I remembered why I loved him. And maybe why I still do.
Sunday was surreal.
There I was. The weekend still brimming over with the promise that my life was fulfilling itself more than it ever had before. It was crisp outside. I had cried because I was so in love with life: its struggles, the people, my friends. Supreme Court was telling me a tender story about miracles and prophets when in the crowd of people our eyes met. Briefly. Because if it hadn't been briefly, we would have waved. But because of its subtlety (and maybe because of the tears brimming in my eyes from happiness and the sudden tsunami of nostalgia that came from seeing him) I was a face in the crowd. It's as though he didn't want to disturb my moment. I felt pretty. And I felt like he thought the same thing.
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