Another Reason Kisses Don't Dream

I was watching friends in action. The girl, her friendly flirtatious mannerisms, combined with the shy, hero-type guy. The kind of guy that somehow ends up friend before foe, banished to that nowhere land men despise with more than their soul.

I saw it all in slow motion. As if the outcome was written in some book I read years ago, and yet I watched. Silently, almost fascinated, like a rubber-necker on the 405, leaning out their windows, braking suddenly, at the commotion on the side of the road. The ambulance sirens blaring in the distance. But all of it was predicted. By me anyway.

I saw the way his eyes glittered when she ushered into the room. The smile slowly growing and emanating from his soul. How his hand, ever so cleverly, dropped to her knee as he fought to sit close to her, to breathe her in.

All that time, I felt it was within my power to stop it all. The splattered heart, liquid dripping down the concrete on the side of a road. The ditch filled with all those shattered daydreams, leaking out and jaded thoughts filling the empty spaces. The same feelings I remember feeling a long time ago.

In my own accident of sorts. When my heart bled. I remembered, and yet I said none.