The day of that party I walked up the stairs to your apartment, and a fourth of the way up it dawned on me the stairwell was unfamiliar to me. I couldn’t remember how many steps there were, or how to navigate them in the dark-something I easily mastered many drunken nights before. When I reached the top, I kind of just stopped and stared at you for a moment through the glass slats on your door. Then you caught my glance and waved me in, but we stayed locked in that moment for a while-I think because maybe we knew it would be the only real time we would have together that night. Even if we weren’t in the same room yet. You looked so different-matured or some character trait that resembled maturity, but I don’t know, mainly because I don’t know you anymore.
It was painful to see you, so painful in fact, I took my glasses off so you and everything else around you was blurred-I knew you were there but I didn’t have to see the details. The details were the always the worst of it anyway.
A Word I Haven't Found Yet 