Her

After Angela’s visit to the restroom last night, something had changed, like she snapped. 

She had been being her normal sardonic self up until that point, dazzling a 60-year-old pharmaceutical researcher by simply being herself. 
But then, she became reclusive and quiet. 
When we got back to her place, she didn't let me in, and the fire that usually burned in our kiss wasn't there. 
I waited to see what would transpire the following day out of fear of pushing. 
Nothing had taken place. 
And there I was, perusing a stack of prospectuses while sitting in my office on a Saturday afternoon. 
Since that woman barged into my life, my ability to concentrate had completely vanished. 


I grabbed my phone and put it back on my desk. 
I knew I fucked up, I always did. I had to get to her before she slipped away from me into her shell.