doughy

I'm baking cookies, they are in the oven as write. Right now, now write. A batch of how-am-i-doing-chocolate-chips, a saccharine litmus test. So I need to get this out quick. I saw he-who-shall-not-be-named last week. He saw me. I think I'm okay, it was an odd circumstance, as these things tend to be. A friend and I were wandering around the Pearl for firsthursday. My boyfriend was supporting his friend showing stuff at a gallery where I knew he- would be. I had told him I didn't want to go and he wasn't really trying to convince me to do so. We agreed to meet at a specific time, and he was walking outside just as my friend and I arrived. He went back inside for a few to say goodbyes. She and I waited outside and that was when we made eye contact, he- was just inside the door up a few steps in the reception. Drink in hand, raised to his perfect teeth in a half smile as he talked to somebody, his green eyes spotting up directly at mine and clashing with his green shirt. I looked away passingly and stood up straight with my back to the door, talking to my friend and holding her by the elbow intimately. Bf came back outside and I turned to leave with them, without looking back inside. I didn't need to see, for he- preoccupied my mind for the rest of the night. Unable to focus on the sound exhibit we listened to, nor the goings over about the porn she and I are making. It was a slow flooding in, like a welling up of the past, of two thousand and hate. Not counting the sugar cookies I made at work, the last batch of cookies I made were for him, the working-late-on-saturday-night-toffees, the last batch of the cookie obsession. Now what? Timer's going off, moment of truth.