The first night I saw you

I felt your pleasantry smile.

The one you give to every stranger

you meet out there in the wild.

 

We had spoken before, but not like this.

You were drunk and I, slightly tipsy.

I held your green-eyed gaze with mine

and grasped for any reason to let go.

 

As you spoke, your words slid down your chin

in a slur of abandoned stories and reckless

apologies. You grabbed my hand for stability

and sparked an illusion of what this could be.

 

Months later and I still remember that night,

I laid you down on my blanket covered couch.

Blacked out. We were younger then. You were

still fresh and green. Not yet withered by that town.

 

I think about the green-eyed boy that stole

my heart in just one look. In a few slipped words,

in a touch, in a darkened hallway, getting desperately

drunk. The way your smile flashed in dim winter air.

 

I think about what our lives could’ve become.

If our timelines hadn’t aligned like the ships

that sail by, in the night. Or if I wasn’t

so afraid of asking you for a hug goodbye.