boundaries;dyle

Caffeine

When you were going to buy your coffee that morning, I noticed that you had cut your hair.

I've always told you not to, but your girl says otherwise. "Shave it off already," she's tease you, and run her fingers through the voluptuous strands of dark locks.

You don't see me as I take a sip of my latte. I, on the other hand, notice every single movement you're making.

I see you twitch slightly as a man bumps into you, and then continue to take your normal stance as the line of caffeine-seeking commuters continues to inch forward.

Your anxiety always gets the best of you, but still you try to blend in with the rest of them.

They all look the same, to me, but you're different. You stand tall with your towering hair. Even though it's shaven at the sides, there's still a cascading loop that looks like a big, ocean wave at the front. It's meticulously brushed, as if it were made to be shown off at coffee shops, but it's effortless.

I know it's just your everyday hairstyle.

Your immaculate beauty is effortless, something everyone seeks to achieve. No one notices that as much as I do, though.

All the women want you- the barista, the lady with the expensive heels next to you, and the one at the table nearby.

They want you. And they want you desperately.

You pay no mind to them, though, since you're as faithful as a dog. Not to me, unfortunately, only to the woman who you're destined to spend the rest of your life with.

You're faithful to those you love, those who you care about, but after what we had, you became distant.

Hours of chatting on the phone turned into endless voicemails and missed calls.

Escapades to bars and clubs and secluded areas became rare for us, after a while.

And when we drifted apart, I felt like I'd lost my other half. That is been snapped in two.

I felt incomplete.

I knew you saw me, that day at the coffee shop. I knew that you noticed me, sitting all glum and creased like a folding chair. But you left without greeting me- after all, you had a wedding to plan, don't you?