She walks past me and our bodies are the closest they have been since we broke up. I feel like I’m in the presence of a celebrity. A couple of months ago, Jen was the woman whose pants I put in the washing machine with mine when I put a load on. Now, she is unfamiliar and untouchable; someone I have a one-way relationship with in photos and memories and in my imagination. I cannot believe she’s real, here and standing next to me.
