When I was a different me, and they were different them, we danced together one magical evening.
One of us had turned cook, and I sampled ten dishes made from the same three ingredients. All ingenously different.
The other was talkative that night, and had us all laughing. In the two years I had known him, he had never spoken that much.
I forgot I had been crying that evening because everything was so wrong in my tiny world, put on a worn out song, and pranced giggling around the dining table.
I am listening to the same song right now. We are happier I guess, but somehow, I can't help but feel a little jealous of the me that had been.