It Was a First-Class End

I couldn’t help but hate myself as she got out of my car at the bus station. We hardly spoke on the 45 minute ride there. She made a few remarks on how people were very different, when they got behind the wheel of their vehicle. Christ, was she articulate when she spoke, but not only that, every word she said was spoken with such confidence and it just made her increasingly more interesting to listen to. Though, you wouldn’t have blamed me for not trying to engage in conversation with her if you’ve seen how she acted. Shit, who am I kidding? I couldn’t help but just pick out and distort every little thing she said. I was mad at her, not for the things she said, not for how she was acting, but for my own resent of her. How I hated her. How I had such fondness and warmth for her. It didn’t matter to her though, but why should it have? I’m not one who deserves to have what I care for. Perhaps I was too eager? I don’t really know what that means, getting to know someone should have put these things aside, but no, I suppose, it doesn’t have to.
She got out of the car, and just closed the door, I knew that I wouldn’t see her in a very long time. I wanted to say something, I needed to say something. So I told her what I was thinking the entire ride there. I miss you. Her reaction to this was very minimal. She told me she did too. I was unconvinced. She didn’t mean it, how could she mean it. But it didn’t matter. I missed her, and that’s all I knew. I drove away before she went into the station, I didn’t want to watch her leave.