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Description
I picked up my glass from the table. The oak was scarred with a din of stain and nicks. The air carried smoke and a deep sweet sweat. Condensation slipped from the glass down my fingers. I drank. I fingered the wet on the table, my tips finding grooves and arcs and curves. The speakers seven feet away from me played alien songs. I touched the carved message and began to mouth music of my own.
‘And so it is, just like you said it would be…’
Some one had been sitting where I am now, hand stretched onto the table, drink in one hand and a loud room around them that made little sense or held little charm for them. They chose letters and copied them into the dark wood.
‘…Life goes easy on me, most of the time…’
I could imagine the hand on the red plastic blade handle, alone, rough and thoughtfully distracted. I wondered how I created such a romantic mind and how far I was from the truth. They would have finished their speech and gone silently to their bed, leaving their drink. I sipped at my own.
‘…And so it is, the shorter story…’
The words were addressed to Sara. He wished her luck and he would miss her. I wonder what she must look like. I wondered what he must smell like. What she must sound like. I wondered what he must feel like. I wondered where she was going and how her luck was. I wonder if he still misses her, thinks about her in the time that is not taken up by their song.
‘…No love, no glory…’
I placed my empty glass over the modestly fashioned statement and left the table. I walked home and wondered where she might live and if her night was as cold as this one. I opened my door and found no carving. I found no stains. I was not missed and I was not just about to go anywhere. I was not the mystery of anyone’s mind and I was not the ache of anyone’s day.
‘…No hero in her sky…’
I hope, though, that I am wondered about from time to time.
‘…I can’t take my eyes off of you…’

Description
I picked up my glass from the table. The oak was scarred with a din of stain and nicks. The air carried smoke and a deep sweet sweat. Condensation slipped from the glass down my fingers. I drank. I fingered the wet on the table, my tips finding grooves and arcs and curves. The speakers seven feet away from me played alien songs. I touched the carved message and began to mouth music of my own.
‘And so it is, just like you said it would be…’
Some one had been sitting where I am now, hand stretched onto the table, drink in one hand and a loud room around them that made little sense or held little charm for them. They chose letters and copied them into the dark wood.
‘…Life goes easy on me, most of the time…’
I could imagine the hand on the red plastic blade handle, alone, rough and thoughtfully distracted. I wondered how I created such a romantic mind and how far I was from the truth. They would have finished their speech and gone silently to their bed, leaving their drink. I sipped at my own.
‘…And so it is, the shorter story…’
The words were addressed to Sara. He wished her luck and he would miss her. I wonder what she must look like. I wondered what he must smell like. What she must sound like. I wondered what he must feel like. I wondered where she was going and how her luck was. I wonder if he still misses her, thinks about her in the time that is not taken up by their song.
‘…No love, no glory…’
I placed my empty glass over the modestly fashioned statement and left the table. I walked home and wondered where she might live and if her night was as cold as this one. I opened my door and found no carving. I found no stains. I was not missed and I was not just about to go anywhere. I was not the mystery of anyone’s mind and I was not the ache of anyone’s day.
‘…No hero in her sky…’
I hope, though, that I am wondered about from time to time.
‘…I can’t take my eyes off of you…’