If I could meet you at a diner right now,
see your bright face,
and the freckles that run lost on your cheeks,
I wouldn’t be crying myself to sleep.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I would ask how your day was with every fiber of geniality inside me.
I would not just say the words to progress the conversation to get to what maybe was really on my mind.
I would start with your day because that is real and important and helps me know you;
keeps me knowing and loving what I know.
Your day is more real than the delusions I came here to talk about.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
my hands would stop shaking when they touched yours.
I would order coffee because you did,
trying to hang with the big dogs.
I would ask the waitress for 10 flavored creamers and use them all for one cup as I cooly smiled at you across the table.
You would use one creamer, no sugar.
You like the unaltered smell of coffee.
It’s one of your favorite smells, in fact.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
you would already know what was wrong, so I wouldn’t have to. You would make me smile before I had the chance to tell you what I thought it was.
You would look at me so intensely that I could feel all you didn’t say and believe it so honestly.
We would make jokes about the corny verbiage of the breakfast titles as our inflection steadily escalated as we repeated them.

If I could meet you at a diner right now,
I wouldn’t be here wishing I were meeting you at a diner right now.
I would instead be memorizing the changes in your face, the way life does that.
I would love them the same because they belonged to you and told a story.
Your laugh lines would be exacerbated from the laughter you created and allowed in you,
by those lucky souls graced with your presence,
hopefully appreciative of it.
Your lips are still soft.
Your skin is slightly touched by summer which brings out your telling eyes that I can see when I close mine.

If I were at a diner right now, I wouldn’t be here. I’d be with you.