Waiting
I sometimes wonder what would've happened if I had told him. Would he have loved me back? Or maybe he'd say one of the many excuses. "Too young." "Wouldn't work." "Not interested."

That's why I didn't tell him. I'd made a list of all the reasons it couldn't work. And worse, I believed them. Maybe if I had believed it would work, we might've had a chance. I kept telling myself that someone better would come along. That it shouldn't matter because he wasn't the right one. Looking back, I think he was.

So here I am, two years later, standing in his office. Yes he has an office. He's going places, moving on. I called him and told him we needed to talk. I'm surprised he remembered me.

Wouldn't it be great if he walked in, I confess, and then we have mad sex on the desk?

I look at the desk. I get chills. It's a nice desk. It'd be better if we were on it, fucking each other.

I look through the stuff on his desk. Always was a neat freak. He even sorts his mail. A letter for: Orlando Bloom, Dr. Orlando Bloom *Dr, eh?*, Mrs. Orlando Bloom *Mrs.?!* , Mrs. Angie Bloom.

ANGIE BLOOM!?

He's married?!?! He's got a fucking wife? I feel my stomach drop to my feet. All I can think is 'I have to leave'. I get dizzy and I can't see straight. He's moved on and I am still left behind. I am still left, loving him. I have to leave.

He will come into the room, and see that it is empty. Wonder for a few seconds on why I wasn't there. But make no effort to find out. Just shrugs it off and leaves. And then he'll forget about me.

I'll be long gone. Driving away in my car to God-only-knows where. It doesn't matter. I just have to get away.

So now I will walk out the door and leave the room, and hopefully leave his life…for good.