That’s how it always is, right?
I mean, after all, that’s how we started too.
Two complete strangers pounding the same narrow path but in opposite directions, towards each other.
With each stride, your recognisable figure, nearer and clearer. Details of your face, the sound of your ragged breathing, the sticky feeling when my arm brushed against yours, the scent of some house brand detergent mixed with your perspiration, and a bad taste in my mouth.
The path was a small and narrow one.
Barely enough room for two, and definitely no room for a third.
How was I to know that every time you had a choice you would choose the other thing?
After all, I was a girl who is always running.
Running away. Running towards. Never still.
You would run past me every single day for the next month, and you would tell two months later, in bed and stroking my legs, that you ran every day because you were making a new routine. A new habit.
It takes twenty one days to form a habit.
Nobody said it would be this hard.
Ah, relapse.
Well, love after all is a habit like any other.
A habit, maybe.
Like any other, no.
Yesterday I ran into you again.
Today is day one of not making you a habit.