She asked me

"Have you thought
of what it will be like
next time you see him?
You might have a chance then."

    The question echoed inside me, it rippled through my ribcage. Had I thought, she asked. Of course I had. Of course I do. The possibilities sometimes make me tremble in the dead hours of night. They're so endless that each night a new one will be there in the place of the previous one and sometimes it's agonizing and sometimes it feels like nothing at all.
    I try
    very hard
    not to concentrate on those posibilities.
    Even the good ones.

I said,
"Yes. I have. But I try not to.
Life can be such a dirty whore
and such a splendid witch
that of all the myriad scenarios
I might build in my head
she will present me
with the one that always slipped
by the edge of my mind.
I try to have no expectations
for I might never see him again."

    And the truth is, more than that, I know that should we ever get the chance, things will not be easy. He does not seem like an easy person. Hell, I know I'm not one. But then again, I don't expect someone who is so ready to admit he wants a woman to love him, that he wants tenderness, to be an easy person and maybe I don't want an easy person. What's the point of that? I don't want to be someone's comfortable choise, I want to be the breeze that soothes the harsness. If he wasn't so honest, so raw with emotions, would I have been so attracted?
    Would I have admitted the things I did admit?
    Would I have cried so much for missing him?
    Would I still worry the way I do?

I am so scared
of seeing him again
because there might be
nothing there
and we'll be perfect strangers
and I will wonder
even more
whether this was all in my head
and it will break my heart
because that will erase
even the fondest of memories.

    It was such things that I discussed with her yesterday night, over a glass of wine.