Last Night

Last night, you looked a little bit like Heath Ledger. I wasn't the only one who noticed it. Someone in the crowd behind me said it too. Perhaps it was the hat you decided to wear. It was a fedora-esq hat, something my grandfather might have worn, but you probably got it at some secondhand store in Brooklyn.

Sometimes I have a hard time being around you. Ok, always. I try and play it cool, but even after all these years, you rattle me. That's the only way I can describe it. I see you, and all of my supposed strength goes right out the window. I usually try my best to avoid looking at you at all, but I do make a point of at least saying hello. I won't let you know that you get to me, ever.

I tend to go back in time and think about those nights, years and years ago, when we wandered around the city after hours, stopping in darkened doorways and in front of the PATH station, kissing until someone made the inevitable "get a room" comment. I remember never feeling more beautiful and more confused on those nights. No one has ever evoked those conflicting emotions in me, not even D.

Will you always make me feel like this? Will I always feel both attracted to you and feel a seething hatred? Because sometimes I do. I hate you standing up there, mugging, dancing, being you. And with that, I still want to push you up against a wall and kiss that spot on your shoulder. Am I alone? Or does everyone have that one person who just will always bring them back, rattle them, make them question every step they've ever made. Maybe it's just me.