I was apprehensive entering the train Saturday morning. I had gotten woefully little sleep, but, and perhaps because my body was on guard, I felt no vestiges of my non-soporific evening. (I am also studying for my GREs and therefore have to begin using words like 'soporific' so that I don't forget them for the test. Look it up - it's listed between 'sophomoric' and 'soppy'.)

When I arrived at Grand Central, I felt, almost defensively, a posession of the environment I had entered. I must have exhibited my assumed indifference while catching the six, as a rather pushy woman with a heavy North-Jersian accent asked me if the train would take her to Bloomingdale's. This was MY train. This was MY city and MY path and MY destination.

I had to give that all up when I saw Zack in the park, my deference present in the hug I gave him.

So much has changed and not all of it bad. Veronica has changed slightly, and seems much more approachable. Harry definitely echoes myself - he has learned a bit of caution and self-defeat. His facial expressions parallelled mine on more than one occasion, which was strange, as I felt like I was looking at a reflection of my male doppelganger (not in my dictionary, although 'Don Quixote' and 'Dostoevsky' are). And Zack? He seems normal again, but in a strange way incredibly untouchable. I am beginning to notice now how his aloofness and his sometimes-inability to have tact when speaking really grate on me, and I am allowing myself to get annoyed by it, finally, after three years. He is not special anymore, although he holds a special place in my heart and brain. I react to him viscerally and subconciously, my brain not remembering our past but my body fully present. He serves as a constant reminder of how I am mired in a past life.

Switch to a couple of days before that, when I was lying on a strip of sand in the middle of nowhere Connecticut, desperately removing a tick from the back of my neck and being watched bemusedly by an old friend. The reeds rustled on the far shore, which in reality wasn't very far, and strange birds swooped low over our heads, their iridescent blue bodies glinting like mini-firecrackers in the blue blue sky. We cuddled that night and briefly kissed, both of us knowing that the timing wasn't right, that in two days he would leave for Texas and I probably wouldn't see him for another year or so, but it was so comfortable that we couldn't resist at least playing pretend.

I am sick of pretend. It seems to permeate my life more than reality ever has.