Without so much as a smile hovering in the moonlight.

At Queensboro Plaza, when the W train sat on the track for twenty minutes, I knew I would not have time to run in Central Park before the New York Road Runners clubhouse closed, so I went home with no real route planned. I just knew I had to get out on the road as soon as possible, so I could be safe indoors before it got too late. I ran upstairs, changed quickly, safety-pinned my keys to my shorts and was out the door in five minutes flat. The last vestiges of sunlight were barely visible, a royal blue glow crowning the treetops and brownstones.

2 miles. I had to run to a place that was 2 miles away. I thought of your apartment, exactly 2 miles from mine. I shook it out of my head, trying to shake you out of my head. It was gonna be a tough workout and I didn't need any open wounds bothering me.

I coasted down my street to 7th Avenue, well-lit and full of people. On a dark night like tonight you can't be too careful, I know all too well. The population was so thick, in fact, that I thought of nothing but dodging the baby strollers and trying not to trip over dog leashes. I dashed into the street from time to time to avoid crowds, leaping back to the sidewalk to avoid oncoming traffic. I purposely avoided your street, telling myself it was only because the traffic pattern was going the wrong way. Instead I ran up 13th street to the top of the slope, where more people crowded around the benches outside the park.

I ran my sprints toward Grand Army Plaza in minutes instead of meters, laddering up: 1:00, 1:30, 2:00. I took my pulse during the rests between to make sure my heart was okay. I turned myself around toward the bottom of the park and laddered back down: 2:00, 1:30, 1:00. The last minute-long sprint was a hard one. I pushed myself, opening my stride, ramping up my intensity, forcing my muscles to push my body faster and farther. I ended with a gutteral roar of victory, my body folding in two over the concrete, one arm resting on my thigh and the other wiping sweat off my forehead. Panting, grinning from the endorphins racing through my nervous system, I lifted myself upright and threw my head back to see the light glinting off a sign that says "12th St."

I cursed and took off running, the better to get away from any reminder of your pointed absence. The drawn-out silence. The ignored email. It happened again. I know it shouldn't matter to me but it does, it stings, and within three blocks I was sobbing and wheezing and trying to catch my breath. I wasn't crying over you really. I was crying because I believe that somehow it must be my fault, and I'm angry because I blame myself in the face of the flawed logic.

I don't know what I could have done to make you disappear again, but you're gone now and I can't ask. You left me standing there, staring up at an empty tree branch, questioning the meanings and motives of all the reassuring things you said to me...and trying to figure out how I am ever going to find my way through this bizarre and slightly hellish wonderland.