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I saw you on the escalators, on the way to our boarding gate. You were in front of me. You wore a black coat with a leather belt swinging, trousers with a fisherman's cut, so that your socks were out, a pattern of crimson and gold, maybe, and then lacquered shoes. You held your left hand like you were running a lace through your fingers, your black hair falling in one perfect wave. I remember thinking I might have never seen a girl so stylish in my life. You must have felt me looking at you, because you turned around. Then you looked back again. Onyx eyes. I saw a brief flash of fear in them, and I couldn't tell if it was that you felt harassed or just a little flustered. Later, as I got a glimpse of you receiving a message on your phone, your smile looked so familiar. And then, as I kept running into you around the gate, I got that you were open for me to approach you. I waited for the natural moment to come, and in the meantime I let perfect chances escape one by one. In the plane, when the belt signs had gone off, I went to look for you, and you were sleeping. There was a free seat next to you. I don't fucking understand why I didn't seat there. Look into your eyes when you woke up and find out. I sat in my own seat, trying to read, my abdomen filled with a warm glow. As I write this I understand what guilt really feels like. Not having heard your voice is as big a sin as hurting on purpose. I see now missed connections is a place where people look for second chances. Whether you give me one or not, I'll never commit a crime like this again. I promise.
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