Heartache

"You're right, that scene when he says "Would you believe" is simply......"" I don't trail as much as derail. C is busy yukking at the truly funny movie we saw. He is not seeing her in front.

They seemed an ordinary group of Indians. UG's, I'd guess. I hate UG's and desire their UG-dom - it's what I'd go a Smeagol-y "Preciousssss" over. I don't notice her till I'm right behind them. N. In an orange shirt and blue jeans. N. Smiling so as to put her pearly teeth and bouncy curls and scarlet lips to perfect effect. N, who waves slightly when I wave at her. N, who hasn't returned a call or an email in a month. N, who goes off with this group, walking parallel to a tall guy who may the person she may be in a relationship with, based on what I saw of her Facebook page (Yes, I know that's creepy, but I'm the sympathetic figure here).

I want to rush up to her and ask her. Why? Why no contact? Why no response? IS it true? But aikijutsu and taekwondo, whatever else they prepare you for, don't enable you to rush up to a crowd of strangers and question a girl whom, well, you were hoping to get to know well.

I sigh. C is still going on about the movie. I can't remember it anymore.

BHAIN-FUCKING-CHOD!!!!!!!!!!!