I thought about you often and it annoyed me. It annoyed me because you’d done nothing to earn such a prevalent place in my consciousness. Not the brief time we spent together, however enjoyable it was (that I would in the coming months learn was nothing but a rouse), not the lengthy conversations or how well we connected over the months leading up to “those nights”. You had done nothing at all to deserve a second thought the moment I stepped away from your body on the train headed towards the tube station. But there you were, in all your elusive glory, gaining purchase on my drifting thoughts and easily-bruised identity of self worth. Countless nights ambling through my thoughts wondering if I was to blame, how I could have saved the situation from becoming what it was, and a myriad of other unanswered questions. I am even annoyed that, right now, I am giving you space in my head as I write this.

However, given the events that transpired last week I can safely say that the only remaining emotion I have towards you is relief. I’d wish you well, but that’d be a lie, and a petty one at that. I don’t wish you anything. I got the answers to my questions in a rather unexpected form. They confirmed what I suspected, but was too busy riddling myself with blame and guilt, to accept it as fact. They weren’t my tears falling that night. They weren’t my venomous words being flung across the table inside blind accusations. But they could have been. I am relieved. And you, are clearly no better now than when we collided. I excel at the art of dodging bullets and you might have been the biggest one yet.