I sit in the same coffee shop routinely now. I see the same beautiful barista every day, but I never say more than a few words to her, most of which is my order; God, I'd love to ask her out, but something always stops me. I stare out of the same window sipping on a tall latte, maybe even a banana nut muffin, looking unto the urban world and all I see are a bunch of cars driving without faces behind the glass. No stories, no humanity, just motion in a trite world that never seems to stop in its inevitable cycles.

And though the world never seems to stop, thoughts of you take me out of this place, to a more rural town at a slower pace, and I begin to mentally shut down as you create a cycle through my mind, reliving memories like a daydream. These days, it all usually starts with me thinking, "Well, I haven't thought about you yet," as I scroll through Instagram, and there you are, like you've set a trap, just waiting for my eyes, then my mind, to fall into.

I wonder if you can feel my eyes impress on you through my phone; I stare at every single one of your posts analyzing if anything about you has changed. "Have you done something new with your hair, or is it still long and golden the way that sets you apart from other dirty blonds?" I ask as more questions filter in. "Do you still wear that perfume that's intoxicating to me? Is your voice still like sweet honey? Can you hear me? God, please, somehow, some way, let her hear me through this cell phone as I cry out to her. Let her feel my heart, how it makes my chest feel like fifty pounds, just so she can know I still hurt and yearn. Let me stop her for once. Make her think of me."

But... this is only wishful thinking. The world only stops on my end. She's not connecting. We've disconnected in that way. In that moment of realization, everything is still, and I'm reminded by the silence ringing in my ear that I've yet to get out of her trap.

"It's not like she hates me. I mean, we're friends. We just don't talk. Like, at all."

"Is it weird though," My friends begin,"you know, talking to her? Does she know the truth about how you feel?"

"No," I respond, "And she probably never will. If the universe wants us together it will bring us together. Right?"

Right?

We used to find a spot in a parking lot and make it our kissing grounds before I had to take you home. We'd drive around in my old car that wasn't anywhere close to as nice as your BMW that your dad bought you, but you didn't care because you were with me and, then, that's all that mattered. We'd coast on the square like we owned those streets, like we owned the night itself, and live wild and reckless with our best friends knowing that night was as young as we'd ever be.

Over time, watching our movie over and over in my mind, the relationship becomes toxic. I yell at her more frequently in later dreams, and she yells back maliciously. We're not talking like young lovers any more, we're now talking like strangers. She's going to leave. How much can we bend before we break? Then it's all over in the next scene, and as fast as that, I discover that the world will never be the same. More unanswered questions, along with these daydream memories of our time together on those wasted days, float through my mind:

"Em, why didn't you tell me when things started going to hell? Why did you pretend to still love me right before you dropped the world on top of me? Why was I not good enough? What the hell could I have done to save everything?" Silence has always been my reply. A silence I must accept. A silence I must learn to live with so that I can create the noise of my own life without you.

You might never know how I feel on a daily basis until it happens to you. Am I insane for still being in love, or is it love itself that brings about insanity? Regardless, I have to keep trying to forget you. I'm going to try and get up out of this never ending trap you've unintentionally set for me. It's about time. I'm tired of feeling pitied. And deep down, I know you want better for me too. In the end, you were just the one who raptured me, and there is nothing we can do about that now, can we?