A kind of Goodbye.

They don't know me, I don't think, but they love me, I think. All we've said to each other was forced conversation, we don't laugh at each other's jokes, nor do we talk on any sort of regular basis: we're not intimate by any stretch of the imagination.

But, we love each other. In five years we'll be able to put all that behind us and talk, I hope.

When I got up to grab my rose, I heard familiar voices cheering. They weren't clapping politely, they were cheering. Looks like I found it out too late, but through some social ciphers I found my place. We never did anything together on the weekends, and there were no pictures of me in the slideshow, but whose fault is that?

Shit, I was wrong...