when I walked in I saw you. but you didn't look up from your drink. I sat down. you were only feet away.
as I talked with other friends, I could feel you looking at me. I looked your way. you looked away and missed my smile.
she was there. sitting next to you. you seemed to be ignoring her. but I knew she was with you. well, rumor had it that she was, anyway.
just once, we looked at the same time. in that instance I could tell you were mostly happy. but still unsure. a glint of longing. of remembering. of knowing. of home.
then it was gone. although I could feel your eyes continue to glance. as I played with our friends' kids. as I laughed. as I wished I could talk to you.
I know there's nothing there. I know there shouldn't be. but the feeling of home doesn't go away as easily as I'd like. it lingers.
finding out you were with her, before the last time I saw you. it made me sad. not for her. but because you're not the person I thought you were. it makes it a little easier to start to forget about that feeling of home.
then you give me a squeeze on your way out. tell me it's great to see me. and home seems closer, even though I know now that I can never go there again.