You were a phone number
on a folded piece of napkin
wedged inside the bottom of my purse
where the matchbooks and chewing gum wrappers fell
with all the change and lint and dried, uncapped pens
And I watched you float down
and almost miss your mark
when I emptied the bag above the trash
to make room for other things that were lately.
I remember you writing
then putting my pen inside your jacket pocket
thinking to myself, "This is it, this is really it"
when it wasn't.
Jan 30, 2010
Jan 30, 2010 at 1:05 PM UTC
You were a phone number
on a folded piece of napkin
wedged inside the bottom of my purse
where the matchbooks and chewing gum wrappers fell
with all the change and lint and dried, uncapped pens
And I watched you float down
and almost miss your mark
when I emptied the bag above the trash
to make room for other things that were lately.
I remember you writing
then putting my pen inside your jacket pocket
thinking to myself, "This is it, this is really it"
when it wasn't.