iota

It's dark. The only light is coming from the Xmas lights around the stage and the exit sign. It's been forever since I've been here. Maybe even longer. Right now I can't remember why.

Then it comes to me as I scan the crowd for him. It's the possibility that he will be here. That I will be confronted with the past that I yearn daily to obliterate. That perhaps just maybe after all this time he will recognize me and start to cross the crowd to say hi. How are you. And the hatred on my face will be visible or I will start to cry.

Or maybe, just maybe, I won't feel a thing.

And we will be civil, like adults should be in these situations.

Luckily the situation doesn't present itself.