She walked in, a gust of nostalgic summer air, with that inviting smile across her face. The room instantly smelt of her skin, a thin layer of July humidity laid like lace upon her chest. I didn’t say hello, nor did I wave or attempt eye contact–too much time bridged between us. But, I sat there and watched her familiar yet unfamiliar figure flutter about as she ordered her coffee, as she made casual conversation with people in her new life.
   I was hidden in the past, pressed between pages of a book she once recommended, lost in lines on hands that once held hers. How beautiful she was as the sun hit her face, I cannot describe. Age had given her a confidence she flaunted as she walked; hips now full, swung side to side seductively. Had she seen me, I don’t know what I would have said. Foolishly, I may have told her I still loved her, perhaps more then than ever, mesmerized by the way her hair hung down her back in a loose braid, resting at the small of her back.
     Truthfully, I would have apologized for having shown her just how cruel love can be.
   Yet, she never met my gaze, floating out the door as if she were never truly there, leaving me to mull over memories–her scent stuck in my nostrils, her laugh echoing in my ear. I apologized to myself for ever letting her go, a reminder of how cruel love can be.