What's left

      I thought of you this evening. I was behind a girl in line at a pizza restaurant, and she turned to talk to a friend and smiled. That smile was just like yours. For a moment, she was you.
      For a moment, I stood there, flooded by memories so strong that I nearly stepped toward her. I felt my arms want to rise to hold her close. And then she was someone else again.
      It left me jarred all evening. I kept thinking of how good we were before it got all bad. Do you know that I remember our first kiss? The uncertainty, the trembling, the sheer terror and glory of that kiss. I think I've rated every kiss against that one ever since.
      And now I'm older. I can see clearly what made it go bad, how we weren't right for each other, and that our lives are so much better now that we don't see each other and live half a country apart. At least mine is. I hope yours is, too. I don't know. But I won't try to find out.
      Because on evenings like this when I'm dining on regrets and memories, when I can taste your body, when I think about how we would throw our bodies together like we were drowning, when all these years seem like something I could step across if you'd just hold out your hand or call me, it's better that I don't know. It's better that I don't think of that temptation. It's better that I don't think of you.
      But this evening, I did. I thought about how it could have gone differently if I'd been braver, wiser, more loving. If you had been honest, stronger, more loving. Those sweet, bitter might-have-beens.
      I guess it's just the night for it. Tomorrow I won't think of it. Tomorrow I will be wise again. And happy to have this life that I have now for all its faults.
      You won't ever read this. Or if you do, I won't know because that's how it has to be. But I wonder one thing ... I wonder if you have evenings like this, too.