I left the restaurant.

In a rush, I quietly excused myself across the massive groups of people blocking the doorway. My wild, unkempt hair tangled up with the straight ones from another person’s head. I tried shrugging it out—I moved my head around like a gorilla communicating its authority over its counterparts. However, unsuccessful, I cut it short with my blunt scissors, barely, and ran fast with my head facing a muddy floor. Walk of shame. My hair, full of lice, was even more witchy now.

It was nice, though, to look at your unbewildered expression as you worked up my appearance on our first date. I, too, noticed your necktie that was loosely worn, and your blue vest that was also kind of unbuttoned above your unironed long-sleeved polo. “So, what was it again?”

“Uh… what was, what? What are we talking about anyway? We… haven’t talked yet?” I curled the left corner of my lips, suggesting an awkward smile in order to battle the growing silence. “You. Your name. Ah, George.”

“Right?”

I did not know how to answer.

I left the restaurant.

In a rush, I quietly excused myself across the massive groups of people blocking the doorway. My wild, unkempt hair tangled up with the straight ones from another person’s head. I tried shrugging it out—I moved my head around like a gorilla communicating its authority over its counterparts. However, unsuccessful, I cut it short with my blunt scissors, barely, and ran fast with my head facing a muddy floor. Walk of shame. My hair, full of lice, was even more witchy now.

It was amusing, though, to look at your puzzled face as you looked at me like you’ve known me for years. I feel a sense of connection between us. Suddenly, my heart was calm and I was able to muster my confidence into holding your hands. “Is it… okay?” I even asked, just to make sure.

“Sure! So, what was it again?”

“What was what? Sorry, I don’t follow.” I half-smiled, confused about what you were going to say. We haven’t talked yet, but I was assuming you were asking about… my name?

“Ah, my name’s Genova. Nice to meet you.

It seems you did not know how to answer.

I left the restaurant.

In a rush, I quietly excused myself across the massive groups of people blocking the doorway. My wild, unkempt hair tangled up with the straight ones from another person’s head. I tried shrugging it out—I moved my head around like a gorilla communicating its authority over its counterparts. However, unsuccessful, I cut it short with my blunt scissors, barely, and ran fast with my head facing a muddy floor. Walk of shame. My hair, full of lice, was even more witchy now.

One.

I am kind of seeing it. It has been a million times now, but I still do not know how to approach this problem. The silence awaits us. No one has spoken yet. However, I am happy we went this far.

Two.

I am quite confused. It keeps on repeating,

Three.

I cannot even finish my

Four.

“H-”

I felt my face meet the ground. You did not catch me. We were already done. Years have passed ever since our breakup. You were perfect for me. I still do not understand.

I left the restaurant.

I was furious at you for yelling at me over the fact that I did not eat lunch. You knew I couldn’t. You knew I was afraid. You knew I wouldn’t have. My stomach would churn at the sight of your cheesy corndog. You knew I would do it for you. You knew I would battle my demons for you.

You were tired. I did not know anymore, whether it was tears running through your face or sweat, because it was blazing hot from where you came from. It glistened at the contact of the bright light bulb of the emergency room. The remnants of the mud from the floor was still visible from my face. I met the ground. I collapsed.

It was not the restaurant that I left.

It was you. Just the sight of your face that used to be bright, bubbly, and happy and that turned to be gloomy with my presence. I felt like depression clinging onto you. I felt like cancer slowly eating up your brain as you yearned for chemotherapy from your friends, which made you even worse. I felt so bad. But most of all,

I felt you. I saw hope in your eyes, hoping that the person you knew, which used to be me, would return. I couldn’t bear the thought that you would lose yourself just for a tiny glimpse of hope that I would get better. I knew it would not happen. I thought so. I thought I knew everything.

And so, I walked along the street—the path that used to bring me to the restaurant. I hoped that it would bring me to you. I have improved now. I am happy. “I’m bright, I’m bubbly, I’m like what you always imagined I would be after recovering…”

“Will you still stay?”

I was looking at a wall. I was not talking to you. You were long gone. There was no restaurant anymore. Times have changed. It used to be your number I called each moment I got, updating you about work. Now I face the painful sight of “Call 09XXXXXXXXX” shooting through my eyes. They were looking for renters. Everything I knew about this place has long vanished.

The muddy floor was clean now. There were no groups of people blocking the doorway. I can leave and enter anytime I want. There is no stopping me anymore. I wish I knew what you meant before, when you got mad at me. I wish I listened. I wish…

Anyway, there’s no going back now. “Darling, what-you looking at?” Ah, nothing, I said. “I went here before. It was a restaurant.”