Blind

We always eat lunch at the same time. It usually happens the same way. Sometimes I don't see her, but this time I sat precariously close to her favorite table. Maybe I'm getting a little masochistic, maybe I wanted to see if it would turn out differently.
I saw her things first, her bag, her coat, that scarf, and then one of her roommates sat down at the table. I said hello, sat down, stared at my food.

She set down a few things, and walked back to get something else.
Walked right past me. Not for the first time either, she's done this on a number of occasions. This time, like most of the others, she brushed right up against me.

Ignored, discarded, forgotten.
Insignificant, unimportant, unwanted.
How funny it is, making contact without making contact. It tears me apart, leaves me gasping, bleeding. It makes me want to gnash my teeth and growl. Imaginary fangs are bared, imaginary hackles stand on end, imaginary claws carve into the table. A terrifying howl, as substantial as smoke, rips through my throat and slashes through the air. I take a bite of my sandwich and sigh a silent, hopeless little sigh.

Go back in time a little, maybe a year and a half ago. She and I ate dinner every night, lunch at least five or six days a week. We'd watch movies, do our homework together in the library, take stupid pictures, head to Collegetown on Thursdays.
She was a friend.

I sit and think for a minute, get up, leave. I take the long way around so I don't have to see her. We cross paths anyway.
I meet her gaze. Her eyes dart away for a second, come back to greet mine. Pathetic. She gives me a smile, says hello. I give her an equally hollow smile, I don't dignify the response with words. That little jerk of her eyes told me everything I need to know.
If you don't want to look at me, I don't want to speak to you.

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Took a nap in the sun today, I thought about a lot of things. A band in the music building was practicing. I caught the occasional note from a soprano, mostly heard the percussion section, interspersed with little snippets of conversation from the people walking by below me. It was peaceful.
The wind blew my hair around a little, it brushed up delicately against my forehead. I concentrated for a bit, opened my eyes, and almost expected to see you standing over me, your fingers running through my hair. Maybe one day.