Careless Whispers

I was crossing Haight Street when I saw him. Sitting next to her in the café. A younger, blonder version of me. Their bodies were angled towards each other, heads bent, nearly touching. Her hand rested on his knee and he brushed her long tresses back as he whispered into her ear; something funny because her head fell back and she laughed. I was too far to hear but I imagined a melodious tinkling sound and a lightning bolt of jealousy shot through my heart.

I stood on the street corner for minutes, only partially hidden from his line of sight. As if I wanted to be caught. I wanted to stop, I wanted to walk away, but I couldn’t stop staring. It was like I was looking at myself ten years earlier. Sitting with him, in the same café, listening to the same whispers, and laughing. Most of all I remember the laughing. It doesn’t happen often to me anymore.

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