Old Flame

The pace of my walk was quicker than my minds ability to figure who she was. I dashed past her oblivious that I once knew her. My mind eventually caught up and it struck me instantly. This would not have occurred if she was not gazing at me with thought. The only curiosity that passed through my mind was the black eye she wore that spread across the left side of her glare. I was surprised at my sudden halt that half of me swore not to do as I was enduring a hastily sprint.

I know her.

Alexandra.

A woman who I worked with ten years ago. She knew who I was like I had never left her all those years ago.

Left her.

More like left the work place, but of course she will claim it was both.
Not wanting to be caught staged fright without words, I strike my hand out with greeting. A bold statement that I was not interested in kissing her hello. She seemed unpleasantly humoured by the fact my ways had not changed. Her bitter smirk was almost as strange as the realisation that I somehow never left her own mind.

I felt her pain.

I exercised this brief moment to study what had happen, what she must be have gone through, quite possibly is still going through. I could not wipe off the ridiculously awkward smile I was wearing. She continued to stand there with that smirk, like she had stood in front of a mirror practising for this day.

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