As the events of the day ran through my mind, replaying themselves in vignettes of color, touch, and sound, I couldn’t stop confusion and regret from imposing their unwanted presences on my delicate memories. The laughter and conversation, the accidental and intentional brushes of the arm, the thought-revealing eye contact, the tentative hints that seemed both presuming and shy. I didn’t know what to make of them. I didn’t know how much of it was real and how much of it belonged to my imagination. I wasn’t sure if I was even allowed to think about it because over-analysis yields dubious conclusions. There was so much I wanted to do, so much I wanted to say. I couldn’t gauge how well it went, and the unknown was eating me alive. I desperately wanted to believe that I wasn’t the only one on this ride, but there was simply no way for me to ever truly find out without undoing all the hard work I had put in to reach this stage of “friendship” today.
I should have been more honest. With God. With him. With myself.
I could have been happier. So much more could have happened.
I would have less regrets. Less confusion. Less wasted time.
Oh well. Shoulda coulda woulda…