I Guess It Was Fate

Campus had that eye-of-the-storm emptiness that only existed between arrive-at-the-bar and stumble-from-the-bar o'clock.

Yet, my insomia-propelled legs brought me past hunched shoulders, a lit cigarette.

I slowed down. She noticed.

"There's no purpose. To any of this," she called over the weighted darkness.

"You mean life?"

She took a drag. "I should sleep." She looked restless, not tired.

"What about this?" Her eyes reflected stars at me. "There's no purpose to us meeting?"

Another drag. "None I can see."

I didn't see it either. Not until later, when she admitted what she'd almost done that night.

What I almost lost.