Page of a Diary

I am walking along the road in my new high-heeled boots. With every my step I hear a gritting sound of sand grains crushing to dust under my heels. The sound is awful, but I like it. I like to feel myself strong despite I'm not that strong inside. This is another time when I surrender: I'm going to a date with him. I've made a promise to myself I'll forget, I won't meet him anymore… Well, what can I say? Only mention the fact that my heels are still squeezing sand grains.
I'm hurrying up to catch the bus and to go to the park where we've agreed to meet. It's been almost a year since we broke up. I know he'll be surprised to see me. Not because I've become more beautiful, no. There're not many changes in my appearance: only gym shoes were replaced by high heels and baggy T-shirts were changed to close-fitting tops and blouses, thought jeans remained the same. But he is gonna be overwhelmed. Overwhelmed of how adult, self-confident and independent I have become. And also overwhelmed by my apathy to him and his feelings. So, when he asks why I agreed to meet him I'll reply I got tired of his never ending messages and asks which my Facebook account is full of. Although somewhere deep inside I know it's not the reason, I'll never confess to him why I actually decided to come to this date.
I noticed the bus arrived. It took twenty minutes to get to the park. I'm walking along an alley in the park to kill some time. Since childhood I got used to come everywhere in advance. Better a half an hour before than five minutes later – this is my principle. Just like right now: I had ten minutes before the appointed time. And because the person who's supposed to come isn't very punctual I might have to wait another half an hour.
After the walk I sat down a bench waiting. Although I look calm and indifferent on the outside, inside of me everything is turning upside down. It's been almost a year since we broke up. What am I going to feel when I see him again? I don't know, I'm afraid to predict. Well, it should be clear when he comes.
…
I had stayed in the park for two hours. He didn't come. And I think it's not about punctuality at all. It seems he wasn't going to come.
I came back by bus. And here I am, walking on the way home. And again with every my step I hear a gritting sound of sand grains crushing to dust under my heels. I hate that terrible sound! How could I like it before?

September 4, 2015