Last night when I saw you I was pretty happy. I knew I looked great and could sense your gaze on me at least for a moment. At least I knew you saw me, but then when our paths crossed again you pretended as if I wasn’t even there. You didn’t even look my way. You didn’t say hi or sorry. Maybe it’s my own fault for expecting that, but it hurt. I felt my heart drop slightly as you walked right by me and left the club. My heart dropped because there was a small part of me that still held onto the idea that maybe there was still a chance for us. When you walked by me I knew that it was over. I should’ve already knew but my overpowering imagination refuses to back down despite my rational mind telling it to. I imagined the night to go differently. That was my own fault. I told myself that if you didn’t say anything that I’d finally let myself let you go. That one part of me was hoping that wouldn’t happen, but I also knew it needed to. It’s been too long. I’ve been holding on to something that’s not even real. Last night you showed me that. I’m grateful and now I can finally move on.