Crazy Little Thing Called Love.

     He knows I'll give him food, regardless of how I still hurt. He knows that I have to help him. It's as if he's a puppeteer with my heart, playing with its strings, controlling its every move. He knows that if he keeps coming back, I'll eventually give in to him and hand him food. And I will. That's what love does to you. It's a pain in the ass rear end, really.
     He was my first love. You always have a special place in your heart for your first love. What happened to his life I will never know. That's what you get for spending all your time in high school on girls, I guess. And I was one of those girls, those stupid girls who thought he actually meant it when he crooned, "I love you." Damn, how his lulling voice sounded to my yearning ears.
     Dear Lord. He's walking in right now. There's no one in this place except me and another middle aged woman. She must sense the tension that just infested the room, because she looks around. She focuses her sights on him. Does she see in him what I used to see? He's inside the restaurant now. Can he feel my heart pounding?
     I have food for him. Of course I do. A warm croissant, old, but not too old. It's slightly underbaked, just like he likes all his pastries. A large sized coffee cup is in my other hand. More milk added than the usual person would prefer, 3 1/2 teaspoons of sugar. I remember from all those coffee runs we spontaneously went on during our senior year. Will he think I'm still hung up over him if I remember all these details from 15 years ago? There's no turning back now: he sees me.
    All I can hear in this silent room is my heart thrashing. I try to focus on my heels. Click clack THRASH click click THRASH THRASH THRASH. Obviously that's not working. I look over at the middle aged woman, sitting silently at her table. She's looking at me curiously. Does she suspect anything? Oh god, he's right in front of me. There's so many possible things I could say, but how to say it eloquently?
    He plucks the bag and cup out of my hand, and leaves. He's gone just like that. He took my breath away just as he walked away. There's nothing more to do now than muster up the strength to click-clack back to my station. Half way there, I realize that I can't do it anymore. Hand over mouth, eyes starting to close, tears flowing down my face. My shoulders hunch up, my back curves, my knees buckle.
    He's done it again.