The night was nearing to an end and as my friends discussed where they were going to next over the loud bass inside booming I spotted you. You were wearing the same tuxedo you had the first time I danced with you, this time though you had a bright red tie on, matching the girl's dress that you'd shown up with. I wanted to look away, but something about the way you stood there in the doorway by yourself, zoning off, made me feel like perhaps I had made a mistake. Because you seemed just as miserable as me that night.
The guy I had gone with that night was sat next to me chattering with his friend that nobody else liked. I couldn't help but feel a little bad that he'd thought I was there with him when really every thought of him went out the door when I saw you. It's like an alcoholic glancing at a liquor store. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't help it.
And I watched you stand there, hands tucked into your pockets and staring off like you were deep in thought. I wish I could have known what it was that you were thinking about. You were likely wondering how your friends convinced you to come to this mess, just like me. But I guess I will never know will I?
There's something about the way that I viewed you before you hurt me again that I miss. That sweet nostalgia of what was. Now I can hardly bear to look at you. Sometimes I wish that night was the last time I saw you, just so I could have that last bit of memory and seal you away once and for all. But that wasn't the last time I saw you, and that zoned off look slowly became a calculative stare.
I hate it because I don't miss that night, but I miss who you were that night to me, just a sweet memory. And I can never get back that feeling. What I would do to go back before it all happened, to see you standing there alone and in your head. Because now everytime I look at you I see who you really are, not that beautiful façade.