I miss the days where I felt like this

It's disconcerting, now, to think of liking someone. That swooping of your stomach, the butterflies that reside low in your gut, the stupid smiles that creep unbidden and hang themselves on your face, the sheen of sweat that graces your palms; it all seems so Hollywood.

I've forgotten what it's like to like someone.

When he asked me what I thought he should do, I thought it so easy to tell him to let go. I had to forcibly remind myself that it's not the same for other people; this decision would actually matter in the morning, and the morning after that, and onwards onto who knows how long. When he told me of his plan, I found it so dreary. Not because it was unoriginal, or not romantic. It just seemed so put-on, even though I know he meant it all.

I wonder if he'll wake early this morning. I wonder if he'll rise from bed in a couple hours and stumble to the bathroom; I wonder if he'll get dressed and look himself in the eye in his mirror and rise up on the balls of his feet and tell himself that today is the day that he wins back his woman. He would say that, too. His woman.

I wonder if he'll actually do it. If I'll see some evidence of his quest. If I'll see them holding hands by Monday. I hope I do.