11:29 a.m. - 2008-10-04
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He sat there, with patience splattered on his face and a drink in his hand. For a moment she thought he was beautiful, perfect maybe. There was something warm about his tired eyes, a tiredness that invited an end, to what that end was she couldnt be certain - maybe relief would be a better word, or change. She placed her arm on his, not out of comfort, but instinct. She smiled at him, not out of instinct, but nervousness. She never knew why he made her feel that way, even after all these years - sure, it had been months since they had spoken, but time never erases intimacy. She needed a drink, she needed a few drinks. She needed to think, to wrap her head around what she was doing there, at "their" bar, with him. She couldnt understand their bond, it wasnt love, it wasnt a tremendous physical attraction.
