I don't even know what this is. I don't even know what I'm completely feeling or felt about him. I didn't know him. I shoved my ideals onto this image, onto this guy who was completely too good looking for his own good, for my own good. I wanted him to be perfect. I wanted him to be perfection in his tall, thin, dark eyed, olive skinned body suit, and he's not. So, I sit here at 8 am and wonder who he really was, and if he'll ever appear in my life again.
I feel deceived. I feel deceived by my own memories, my own beliefs. So, I sit here with the clock ticking, with it creeping towards 9 am, towards takeoff, and I let myself in on a little secret. The secret of denial, it was lust, it was lust, it was lust.
Last night I belly up to the bar with Mori at DeVille as we watch one of my old flames kiss another girl. I watch him touch her leg and how he desperately wants to take her home. I smile and inside I want her to go home with him. I feel little if anything. Indifference.
The indifference has plagued me up until this point, up until today, with my heart sinking, with my heart beating. It's 9:18, 18 minutes past takeoff, and it's over. It's gone.
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