"Your neck must hurt" said a gentleman from the table over. She looked up, a little mortified that he'd been watching her write intently in the sunlight.

"So keen on writing it all down instead of taking it all in." he smirked.

"Perhaps when I'm old with Alzheimers I'll appreciate having books written to myself to remind myself of it all"

Shaking his head, he said "What good will that do if what you write carries no experience? Give old you a chance to enjoy herself for a second time."

He pulled out the chair next to him.

"Sit."

There's this time somewhere between three and four AM where you don't hear a thing, where it's the absolute quietest; where everyone's sound asleep. You know that silence? How it can either comfort you or make you feel abandoned?

Then there's the first 'whoosh' of the cars driving by, and people are starting to wake up, and birds are beginning to chirp, and you can hear car doors slamming, and a honk or two in the distance. Then a neighborhood rooster crows not far down your own block, muffled by all the whooshing.

You look out your window and you see this very pale cyan peaking through and you feel so ******* blessed to hear the hum of the first motorcycle and the 16 wheeler roaring past the houses.

You prepare to rest with the knowledge that no one knows you're listening. You soak up all of the morning sounds because it's the high suspended peace before your fabricated nightfall and someone else's good morning.

You stayed up talking to the moon and you bid goodnight to the rising sun.

I am someone who can dismantle you as easily as I promised you the world and managed to mean both with all of their heart.

Someone so prone to accidents.
Charming you with all of the little mistakes I make in preparation to surprise you when the big ones break you.

"I promise" he said -
"I promise to never leave you" -
The second it gets too serious - he will grow distant.

"I promise" I said -
"I promise to never leave you" -
Then, I will explode about something you said
three weeks ago over burnt toast.

You open your arms,
and just when you expect me to run to you -  I run the other way.

There were so many other things you were paying attention to.
The corn dogs at a corner, the acrobatic tricks across the ferris wheel.
Your arm around her waist.
I made sure to trail behind the others.
I suppose for me it felt better to stay behind and be oblivious to what
everyone was laughing about.

I wasn't having a good time, I was so ******* miserable.
Every time I looked forward I saw your curves and I caught myself staring too often.

I kept thinking that if I had been a little bolder perhaps it'd have been me holding your hand. I kept wondering why you were being so distant when not too long ago we were exchanging glances from across the room that forced both of our mouths into crooked smiles.

God how I wondered what your lips tasted like when you'd smile like that.

Why are you playing such a cruel game of darts?
Despite the ache I felt with every caress you gave another; you still had the gaul to ask me to hold your hand and, foolishly, I extended my arm.
Though you let go so quickly, and sure enough you were next to her again.
Far in front of me while I tread behind the group, plundering in that familiar feeling of being within and without.

...**** I'm staring at your *** again.

You threw mints all over my car the other night to annoy me.

You closed the door behind you on your way out, I said I loved you when you were no longer listening.

With a Ricola wrapper pressed to my chest, swirling the taste of the mint in my mouth with my tongue;

I realized just how much I  missed you.

Oh my.
I haven't been this suicidal in a long time.