Buttons I Do Not Want Pushed

Once upon a time, not all that long ago, I was in love. A visceral "I can't explain it but somehow we are meant to be together" kind of love. And there were extreme differences. And different expectations. And hurt getting in the way.

And now I am not in love. I have a crush on a know it all that I'm currently suppressing. But it's just a crush. And he is not available anyhow. And I'm taking the month off.

Yesterday, I went out with a friend and the thing that caused my limbic storm last week . . . happened. I didn't recognize him at first. We sat four feet from each other. We pleasantly ignored each other. I was working under the "I never want to speak to you again" paradigm. Things were okay. I did not spontaneously combust. It had to happen sooner or later. We like some of the same things, the same places. We did not speak. We avoided eye contact. It was fine. Funny.

I arrived home to find an email. An apologetic email. An olive branch, when I didn't think that would ever be a possibility. And now, I don't know if I want it to be a possibility.

And now I sit, picking at scabs . . . reading what I wrote at the time to remember the pain, the loss. To remember that I don't want to do that again. To go there. And photos that I took during a better time are suddenly posted as icons. And the wounds open again. Wounds that I had stitched carefully. And again, I have no words for what I feel. It is simply felt . . . a connection that cannot be explained.

So I will tell myself that he is simply lonely. He saw me, therefore thought of me, and found the pictures (they are good pictures). He doesn't know that they would bring me back to the moment that I took them. That the pictures are a more effective button pushing mechanism than anything he could write in a "I'm trying to be breezy" email.

And I will do nothing. Remain paralyzed for the moment. I do not want the buttons to be pushed.