I have not forgotten him. I have not completely let go of the potential to lust after him. The fact that we cross paths nearly every day makes my thing for him less urgent. I still get to brush past him, touch him on the back or on the shoulder if he is kneeling down. I still get the visual rush of seeing him open the door and enter the shop, all silhouetted half-mystery half-familiar. I still want him at my side but we have moved on from the pointy end of my desires. He has taken it away from me with that sticky patch we hauled ourselves through together. Now it is almost always easy honesty, collegiality with a bit of visual stimulus thrown in.
Still he will be leaving soon and I have a little wave of anxiety because when he is gone I will miss him like an organ ripped out and donated to someone else before I am ready to part with it. I can feel the gnawing hole of the lack of him. The emptiness of heading to work each day. The possibility of an afternoon beer taken out of my reach.
I will work hard, I tell myself. I will slave over the jobs I have before me and then there will be no room to miss him, but the truth is I miss him already and I have flashes of potential goodbyes, a quick duck into the cupboard for an extended, and not quite chaste kiss, a pressing against him while we are counting the tills. All this can and should be re-interpreted in other ways of course, my careless expression of lust may actually just mean "you are going, and I will miss you terribly".