I went somewhere last night that I have been 100 or more times before. I saw people I have known for years and people I’ve only seen a few times before. There were also people I’ve never seen and a few I didn’t want to see again. I was my type of thing, a perfect combination of familiar and unknown. The type of situation that I usually just fall right into, have a wonderful time, and go home happy and alive. It didn’t work out.

I’m not sure why but no matter who I talked to or what I did, I just felt like it wasn’t right. I felt like I wasn’t supposed to be there. I hung back when I should have run forward and I hid when I should have hung back. The wine I use to love tasted all wrong and the bread I made had already been eaten. I left without saying thank you or goodbye. I figured it didn’t matter.

It was an odd drive home. I didn’t want to go home. I didn’t want to go anywhere else. I stopped and picked up milk for breakfast. I went home and called my mom. Then I read your posts and I went to bed.

I woke up early this morning with a dream still fresh in my head.

I was holding a map and staring at the red circle with underground written on the blue bar. He was watching me when I looked up. The Eagles were playing in the background. His hair was too black and his eyes were too blue. His smile was too sweet. I smiled at him. I felt like I knew him. He was hopping off at the next stop and he motioned for me to join him. I shook my head no. He shook his head yes. I shrugged a maybe. I watched him walk away. The music stopped when the train door closed. It was the end of a peaceful easy feeling.

I wondered how I could remember the face of a regret after all these years then I got up and started to clean up the house. People were coming over. Even though I like them, I don’t want to see them. I want to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here. I want a heartache tonight. Or at least the possibility. That will never happen here. That’s supposed to be good thing. Right?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RpiG8TkDulo&rel=1]

One Response to “A Face of Regret”

  1. Our nights sound eerily similar.

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