Moving forward, looking back

I almost never think of you at all anymore, but, for some reason, you're on my mind right now.

Maybe it's the fact that I was in your neighborhood today. On the train, and then, on the bus, I kept looking over my shoulder, waiting for you to materialize out of nowhere. It made me nervous. What if you were angry about the way I stopped responding to your calls, your emails, your texts. What if you glared at me? Or worse yet, what if you looked at me with sadness or remorse -- the same forlorn, lost look that spoke to me in the first place? Here's the funny thing -- I know I did nothing wrong. Turnabout is fair play, and I did nothing to you that you didn't do to me first, worse. So you have no right to make me feel this way.

Or maybe it was because of the hurricane brewing out at sea. Remember our hurricane, the one that almost ruined our second date? Instead, we just sat inside and talked and talked and talked. I wonder if it would have turned out differently if we hadn't been stuck inside together for all those hours at the very beginning. Would my guard have stayed up longer -- long enough to keep you from worming your way in, pretending you were something I needed, and then running away?

I know it's over, way over. And today, these thoughts of you were just a momentary detour, a quick glance back in my rearview mirror. Next time I look up, they'll be even further behind me.