Tiny Wounds

You can't feel great about yourself. I've been trying to put my finger on what bothered me so much about our brief interaction. 

I should have just sat there amused and surprised to see you in my neck of the woods as you crossed the street. Why am I always so sincere? Then again, why shouldn't I be someone I am? 

I realized I'm just that woman from the building. Endless chats about this or that with you still puts me in the "stranger" category. Let alone, acquaintance.

You looked nervous. I wondered when you were going to open your arms to give me a hug in your usual way. You never did. I felt a wall go up...though it could have been mine, too.

And you crossed the street, like your life depended on it. I should congratulate you for being such a loyal worker. I mean, why would you make time for me? Well, on the streets of Toronto, anyway? 

I would have made my way back sooner but my pride was stronger than any desire I might have had to speak with you in the safe zone.

I heard your voice but went back outside and around to avoid an encounter. You know I'm a woman of integrity. I chase no one. And desperation is not becoming...

I had a feeling you waited as long as you could. But, to me, you had already been too late. There's no way I was going to show my face.

A birdie told me you mentioned you'd seen me and that I had called out your name. Yeah, I know you waited as long as you could. I know you figured you weren't going to see me again that afternoon. And as far as you know, I thought it was your last day on our premises.

Now I understand what bothered me so much. It was a stench of ego and arrogance. It was ever so subtle but there, nonetheless. It came off as some kind of "dick rule". Who has time for nonsense like that?

Not me.