Two months past, some things changed, some the same.
The other day, I saw her. I was walking behind in a crush of students, when I recognized the backpack, the hair, the watch. Three and a half years and not much had changed - it's difficult not to pick her out in a crowd on accident. I sped my pace to catch up. I wanted to talk to her. Mere steps behind her, everything falls apart in my head. I e-mailed her a couple days ago requesting we talk, as I need to be able to be comfortable around her - we share too many mutual friends to avoid each other forever. Anyways. I saw her and moved to catch up. It was morning and I hadn't even attended my first class.
Moving closer, I tried to figure out why I was doing this. "I just need to talk to her," I thought. "No. No, this isn't right. You want more. The touch, the feel, the comfort, everything that relationship ever brought you that made you human. DO NOT TALK TO HER. Don't do it. Don't be that asshole. Let her talk to you, let things go on her terms. Do not speak a word to her."
I paced onward. I'm the only person on campus with the blue/silver/blue messenger bag. She could not have missed it. I was quivering. My body was broken. I had to make it a hundred feet. Off the path and up the stairs to nowhere. Once in the middle of the W-shaped sculpture, my knees gave out, muscles flickered on and off, tears rushed forth, my breath left me. I shook. Watched as she walked off and disappeared seconds later. I sat there, a pile of human for ten minutes, until I could convince my legs to move again.
Later that day, I was in a relatively empty corner of the library with a study group. Had to pee, so I walked to the bathroom. At a computer, not ten feet away, she is there. I return to the group, suitable shaken. No words were exchanged there. I was hungry and freaking out, never a good combination for me.
Again, the same corner, looking for study materials two hours later. She's there. LEAVE. JUST LEAVE.
I've been in Bellingham for five years come this September. The vast majority of it was spent with her. Almost every place is the context of some memory with her. I want to leave. Summer offers respite: She will be gone for six weeks (I knew before we broke up about that) and I may be able to skip town for six weeks after she gets back. Maybe we won't talk until September.