watching you...

...with another woman.

It ripped my heart out.

I walked in the door and scanned the crowded dance floor for your perfect face. Finally, I found it. Or more, you found me. I was waiting at the bar. You looked at me and smiled. Perfect in your green pinstripe shirt, and your hair always done perfectly effortless, you smiled at me, leaned in, called: you made it! You smile again and slip your hand around my waist. My breathing stops, but you wouldn't notice aside from the thumpa-thump-thumpa of the House. I finally get the bartender's attention and pay more than I should for my watered-down drink and as I'm leaning against the wall, you take my hand and ask me "do you wanna dance?" I say "I'd like nothing more," but you don't hear my prepared, calculated answer.

Then suddenly it's an hour later and you've forgotten I exist. And I feel like that creepy girl who's following you around the dance floor. And no matter that other people are dancing with me, and asking me if i'm here with anyone, because the truth of the matter is that I want to be here with YOU. I didn't really come with you. But I want to leave with you. Want to dance with you. Want your hands on my waist pulling me closer so our breath warms one another's bodies. Want you looking at me like maybe you're thinking the same thing I've been thinking since we met. I want you. Period.

But like I said, I look over, and there's another girl. Not prettier than me. Not skinnier. Dressed better, yes. But I can guarantee she didn't come here for you like I did. And I realize this jealousy is ugly, but oddly enough I don't think I'd be so jealous if I knew I had you. I don't have you, now. And watching your lips meet hers, I can't look away. I want to, because my heart is breaking. I so want to be on the relieving end of that kiss, but I chickened out. Like I always do. And you've slipped away. I should have sucked it up. Stopped being so afraid. Leaned in and kissed you when I had the chance. It would have made a difference. I know it would have.

But instead I'm watching you kiss another woman. Another curvy woman with curly hair. In a dress I could pull off just as easily. And as she's pinned you against the mirror, I'm barraged with images of you from all angles. I can't escape the image of the two of you, swaying together, one body in more ways than one, as I'm painfully aware of how far away I am. My heart falls. Skips a beat. Or seven. In the most painful way possible. My stomach is in my throat. I'm nauseated. And I want to cry. And disappear. While at the same time running up to you, wresting you from her grip, and showing you what you're missing. You're missing ME, dammit.

And here's the thing. After all this, I can still convince myself that you really were happy to see me. That maybe I really do have a chance with you. That you were just insanely drunk (you were), and I just refused to take advantage of that. Instead, I went home with you, tucked you in to your bed. Put your phone next to you. I'll check on you in the morning. Hopefully you won't have forgotten about me.

Fuck. I'm crazy about you.