She was quiet
as if thinking of her favorite story, or song
yet I, knowing them all
knew that this couldn’t be the reason
for her sudden silence.
My heart beat quickens
her eyebrows arch,
and I remember the day we met
in the back table of the coffee shop she loved.
I said hello, and she said “why?
Where could this go?"
She said “we could talk.”
“you could buy me a cup of what you may suppose
would be my favorite coffee.
Probably some darker roast
with some mixture of cream
highlighting the coffee’s floral notes.
I would pretend to like it
though you would later find I only drink tea.
We would leave, and I would give you my number
because I’m awkward, and by the look of things,
we would talk about our wants, our desires, and dreams,
and stay here way too late, I would get more coffee
to complete my act,
and by the end of the night you would probably have swept me off my feet.
We could go on a hundred more date,
and find that we love each other.
We may last a couple more months, or years,
but we would end up here.
Me sitting with nothing to say,
and you too sad to move on.”
I said, putting down the coffee I had bought for her,
“well the first part sounded good.”
As her mouth draws into a line, I fear we may have reached the end.
My heartbeat races, knowing from the beginning how this would go.
She would say “this isn’t working anymore, this thing we’ve tricked
ourselves to believe was going somewhere.”
and I will try to capture everything, the look of her hair, the gleam in her eyes
to maybe save my memories from the coming crash.
She begins to talk with hesitance in her voice,
something that I haven’t heard there many times before.
“I know I made a promise, at the beginning of this thing,
I know you pressed on hoping for the best,
and I know I may have eventually led you to believe
that we had beat the odds, or at least my dim look at them.
You know I’m a mess, a cynic, and even a **** but you stayed
and kept hoping.
Maybe it’s contagious because I have found myself hoping too.
Hoping my predictions were wrong,
and I think, looking at you,
looking at us, I have never wanted to be wrong more in my entire life."
Feb 27, 2017
Feb 27, 2017 at 9:47 PM UTC
She was quiet
as if thinking of her favorite story, or song
yet I, knowing them all
knew that this couldn’t be the reason
for her sudden silence.
My heart beat quickens
her eyebrows arch,
and I remember the day we met
in the back table of the coffee shop she loved.
I said hello, and she said “why?
Where could this go?"
She said “we could talk.”
“you could buy me a cup of what you may suppose
would be my favorite coffee.
Probably some darker roast
with some mixture of cream
highlighting the coffee’s floral notes.
I would pretend to like it
though you would later find I only drink tea.
We would leave, and I would give you my number
because I’m awkward, and by the look of things,
we would talk about our wants, our desires, and dreams,
and stay here way too late, I would get more coffee
to complete my act,
and by the end of the night you would probably have swept me off my feet.
We could go on a hundred more date,
and find that we love each other.
We may last a couple more months, or years,
but we would end up here.
Me sitting with nothing to say,
and you too sad to move on.”
I said, putting down the coffee I had bought for her,
“well the first part sounded good.”
As her mouth draws into a line, I fear we may have reached the end.
My heartbeat races, knowing from the beginning how this would go.
She would say “this isn’t working anymore, this thing we’ve tricked
ourselves to believe was going somewhere.”
and I will try to capture everything, the look of her hair, the gleam in her eyes
to maybe save my memories from the coming crash.
She begins to talk with hesitance in her voice,
something that I haven’t heard there many times before.
“I know I made a promise, at the beginning of this thing,
I know you pressed on hoping for the best,
and I know I may have eventually led you to believe
that we had beat the odds, or at least my dim look at them.
You know I’m a mess, a cynic, and even a **** but you stayed
and kept hoping.
Maybe it’s contagious because I have found myself hoping too.
Hoping my predictions were wrong,
and I think, looking at you,
looking at us, I have never wanted to be wrong more in my entire life."
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