I often wonder what I would do
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If we ever ran into each other again.
The posibility of that actually happening
Is infinitely remote, but it still haunts me.
I like to think that if, by chance,
We came into contact again
Maturity would prevail and we could be friends.
However, I know you and you know me
And chaos would reign.
I would demand answers to the questions
That have been building up inside
For the months that have passed.
You would sit there passively
And say virtually nothing, cloaking yourself
In your 'intelligence' and 'humanity'.
In my imagination, at the end of our conversation
I reach across the table with my left and take your hand
While I swing with the right and knock out a few teeth.