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"How did you find me?" he asked as I sat down.
"How do you think?" I asked. He stayed silent for a second, "I don't know - I made it as impossible as I could for you to do that."
"I am aware," I said, "but I'm always able to find something if I want to."
Neither he nor I looked at each other; but I could tell that he was calm, and I also heard that he was drawing something. "What are you drawing?" I asked. "You'll see." he kind of brushed me off. I listened to the sound of him drawing for a few moments. "Are you going to say something to me?" he asked, which brought back to my attention that I was the one who started this interaction. "When I first found out that you would be here right now, for some reason there was some part of me that really wanted to talk to you again, I knew that I shouldn't but figured that there would be no harm in doing so. I had all of these things that I wanted to say to you, but now I don't want to, I can't even think of them."
"I wanted to do the same thing up until a year back." he said.
"What stopped you?" I asked.
"I just stopped thinking about you." he answered. He kept drawing whatever he was drawing.
I was taken aback by that answer; I was expecting something more melodramatic or for some reason intimate. In the half second before I said something I thought about how it was somewhat selfish for me to be thinking that way.
"Ah." I said.
"But either way, were here, on the same bench we came out to each other on, or kinda did, sort of, you know what I mean." he said.
I kept listening to the sounds of him drawing. The fact that I was doing this made me uncomfortable; I shouldn't be enjoying just being around him, but I was. I had to talk to distract myself.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Yes. I'm fine." he answered for all three ways I could be asking the question.
"Great." I said.
I tried to think of something to say; I couldn't decide if he was wanting me to leave or was waiting me to talk further.
"I never said sorry to you, for what happened." I said.
"You don't have to." he said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"I'm just as much to blame." he said.
"That doesn't change that I'm sorry for what I did." I said.
"And that doesn't change the fact that you don't have to apologize.
He sighed. For the last two years, I have spent a copious amount of time drawing. Whatever I'm thinking I just draw it. A lot of times I don't know why. When I'm done, I immediately scan the page and destroy it." He paused, "I try to figure out why I drew something, but a lot of times I find it's meaningless, or I drew it only for my pleasure."
I looked off into the distance of the park. "I write." I said. The same sort of thing applies to me. I write randomly, all over the place. A lot of time It's intimate." I paused. "I publish them online; anonymously of course."
"Neat." he said. I could still hear him drawing.
"Do you still like me, even somewhat?" he asked.
"Yeah." I said. "I've tried to move on, but, I've just never been able to find someone. I've been on a few dates, but never further."
He thought about how to say what he wanted to tell me, but didn't think it was necessary. He instead decided to say: "Nothing has ever compared to you, just, touching me, holding me." He paused; I felt like I should be crying but I wasn't. "There was a sense of security I felt with you, a sense of trust I had with you that literally nobody else has ever given to me."
"And I broke that." I said.
"We both did." He said.
He kept drawing. Neither of us said anything, nor looked at each other.
"I'm so bored of waking up"... I slowly sang. "I'm so bored..."
He stopped drawing and started to listen.
"... bo-ored of what's in-side my cup." he cut in at the same slow pace "I'm so bored; bored of bein' all a-lone"
I had stopped singing when he cut in, but continued at pace with him, "Just hopin' I found pour-pose in thes pic-tures on my pho-o-o-one."
"You know that song." I said.
"Yeah," He said, "It's a great song."
He tore his drawing out of his notebook on the perforation and stood up. He put the drawing on the bench where he was sitting. "I hope you find someone." He said.
"I hope you do too." I said.
He walked away. I looked at the drawing he left behind. It was of me, or at least the freshest recollection he had of me.
Now I cried.