I felt my smile lighten my face as I stared at the lamps, dimmed and intimate. Like I was sitting next to you, darling. Like you were smiling at me smile.
The chairs were emptied and sighing in relief at the day’s end. I rested my head on the booth, and thought about us sitting on those chairs happily, filling them in detail with the happiness that could only be us. And we’d sit and talk and stay until they asked us to leave. And we’d smile at the waiter, sharing a secretive agreement between us, and he’d understand, I’m sure he would.
And then those chairs would be empty again for the night until the next two people who sit and talk and smile at one another will stay on the chairs until the waiter asks them to leave. And the waiter would understand, he really should.
The two would walk away, like we would the night before. Arms around each other, and exchanging satisfactions. You’d open the door for us, and we’d stay out the night, walking and talking and playing and loving.
It’d be cold, and my hands would be frozen to the tips. But you’d hold them any way, and kiss them when you find my eyes. I’d say you’re mine, and you’d say ‘I know’. And I’d show you my teeth, and you’d show me yours, and we’d stay gleaming and chasing breaths.
But unlike those nights, I sat there staring at the lamps because they were dimmed and intimate. Because there were chairs that looked like our happiness. And the waiter would know that we love each other. And we’d leave with the lights turning off behind us. So I only stared and smiled. And then I missed you. And I wished you really were there, smiling at my smile, and staying.
I had a good night with you even when you weren’t there.
The chairs were emptied and sighing in relief at the day’s end. I rested my head on the booth, and thought about us sitting on those chairs happily, filling them in detail with the happiness that could only be us. And we’d sit and talk and stay until they asked us to leave. And we’d smile at the waiter, sharing a secretive agreement between us, and he’d understand, I’m sure he would.
And then those chairs would be empty again for the night until the next two people who sit and talk and smile at one another will stay on the chairs until the waiter asks them to leave. And the waiter would understand, he really should.
The two would walk away, like we would the night before. Arms around each other, and exchanging satisfactions. You’d open the door for us, and we’d stay out the night, walking and talking and playing and loving.
It’d be cold, and my hands would be frozen to the tips. But you’d hold them any way, and kiss them when you find my eyes. I’d say you’re mine, and you’d say ‘I know’. And I’d show you my teeth, and you’d show me yours, and we’d stay gleaming and chasing breaths.
But unlike those nights, I sat there staring at the lamps because they were dimmed and intimate. Because there were chairs that looked like our happiness. And the waiter would know that we love each other. And we’d leave with the lights turning off behind us. So I only stared and smiled. And then I missed you. And I wished you really were there, smiling at my smile, and staying.
I had a good night with you even when you weren’t there.
