A ghost of past

The Skillet in Ballard. I wore my DMB hat, Green Bay Packers tee and rust color Gap pants. You remarked how Green Bay was your favorite team. A woman that likes football. I am sure I loved you instantly. 
We sat at the end and straddled the bar stools in diner like fashion. I was watching your lips as you talked about your ex-wife. Obviously, I couldn’t multitask so you ordered. The food arrived and I rambled as you ravished the chicken thigh and waffle. I wished to be the syrup stuck between your lips and tongue. I don’t recall eating at all. I do remember commenting on the time and reminding you had a meeting with the roommate. You replied that was “an out” if needed. I was flattered.  
You were out of my league at the time. Everything I wanted, all that I hoped, all that I desired right before me. Your sex from head to toe, high IQ, tall and long which later you would confide Marfan’s syndrome. Your ackwardness made me feel at home. Your laugh. That smile that illuminates the room. How your lips grasped a straw then let go ever so gently followed by a tongue thrust against your front teeth. Such beauty. In hindsight, an intimidation so frivolous and mundane.  
That week I was higher than a kite. I told my best friend how we met and I couldn’t wait to see you again. I waited patiently. You finally did return my text I think it was a Monday evening. You told me that you have been busy and had reconnected with a friend from junior high. This I wish you had lost my number before that Wednesday. 
We met at Matador In Ballard over five dolla wings and nachos. You professed your love for Dawn the girl in Cali and you cried while I listened. I remember feeling I wish I had your heart like that. And I never would. I wish then as we were walking back to the car I wish I never heard from you again. I wish we had parted forever. 
At least I no longer stop and try to recapture a moment when in Ballard. I’m most content on this side of the bridge and thankful our small world is non-existent. My heart must be healing or maybe early signs of dementia.
The fascination turned almost obsession concocted through continual analyzation, trial and error- I wanted more of what was in your head. It is rather simple now. The mystery solved. What fueled the magical thinking. I never imagined an alternate ending.  
I want the two of us in a room. I imagine the silence would be deafening. Except if you were drunk maybe we would strike up a conversation. We would chuckle at the mundaneness of it all. The laughter that would fill the room. Then they would enter to hoist you away from me. I would lose once again all that I wish. That hug I long for and you confess that you once loved me and used my full name in a sentence without stuttering. It doesn’t matter. I’m ok with nothing. I’m ok with no words between us. But the history is there and overall my reputation is intact. No one knows of you or remembers.