Thank you, Stranger, for your theraputic smile.
ch. 2
She smiles.
He grins.
She musses up his ink-black hair that already looked like it was too messy.
He wraps his arms around her.
She burys her head into the crook of his neck.
They somehow trust each other completely with their souls.
You don't know how that's possible.
It always takes you so long to get used to someone enough.
Maybe try being like her.
But maybe not.
Everything's hazy.
He takes her hand and they step out into the night.
It's too hot for them to be holding onto each other like they are,
But it doesn't seem to phase them.
Maybe they're too blinded by each other to feel anything around them.
But is that love, or is it lust?
They disappear into the dark.
Their forms still outlined by the streetlamps.
You strain your eyes to see them.
But they're already walking too far.
A moment of an idea.
Simple but insane.
Follow them.
Follow young love.
So you do.
Grab your favorite jacket,
Don't forget to lock the door.
Shrug it over your shoulders.
Follow on an impulse.
They're just ahead.
You can see them clear enough to make your heart melt at the site.
They must be talking.
About who they are and what they've done.
You remember a time when you could've done the same.
Talked to someone you only just met about who you are.
But that's past now.
Too late for hope in this life.
They turn a corner.
Into a coffee shop.
How clichè.
But then you have a revelation.
Clichès don't matter in life.
They're only another person's perception about what's normal.
What's predicted.
You follow them in.
Stand in line behind them.
Calling to mind you only have enough in your worn-through pockets to buy something small.
His voice flows out of his thinly parted lips.
Deep, smooth.
Her voice follows.
Warm, Textured.
They seem to fit.
Smile at each other.
He pays.
She calls him a gentleman.
He laughs at that.
Says he's far from it.
She leans into his arm.
He lets his hand go to her waist.
She flinches at the touch.
You can tell she's not used to boys.
He recoils at her reaction,
Face red.
She smiles.
Mind adjusted.
Leans into his arm again.
He lets his hand be guided to her once more.
It's all reflexes.
They pick up their orders.
You hope they'll sit down.
They do.
You get your normal order.
Then pause.
Something different for an abnormal occasion?
Re-order.
They twitch at your indecision.
You let an apology slip from your mouth.
Not that you really mean it.
Sit down. Take a sip. Take it in.
This is a night of revelations.
He grins.
She musses up his ink-black hair that already looked like it was too messy.
He wraps his arms around her.
She burys her head into the crook of his neck.
They somehow trust each other completely with their souls.
You don't know how that's possible.
It always takes you so long to get used to someone enough.
Maybe try being like her.
But maybe not.
Everything's hazy.
He takes her hand and they step out into the night.
It's too hot for them to be holding onto each other like they are,
But it doesn't seem to phase them.
Maybe they're too blinded by each other to feel anything around them.
But is that love, or is it lust?
They disappear into the dark.
Their forms still outlined by the streetlamps.
You strain your eyes to see them.
But they're already walking too far.
A moment of an idea.
Simple but insane.
Follow them.
Follow young love.
So you do.
Grab your favorite jacket,
Don't forget to lock the door.
Shrug it over your shoulders.
Follow on an impulse.
They're just ahead.
You can see them clear enough to make your heart melt at the site.
They must be talking.
About who they are and what they've done.
You remember a time when you could've done the same.
Talked to someone you only just met about who you are.
But that's past now.
Too late for hope in this life.
They turn a corner.
Into a coffee shop.
How clichè.
But then you have a revelation.
Clichès don't matter in life.
They're only another person's perception about what's normal.
What's predicted.
You follow them in.
Stand in line behind them.
Calling to mind you only have enough in your worn-through pockets to buy something small.
His voice flows out of his thinly parted lips.
Deep, smooth.
Her voice follows.
Warm, Textured.
They seem to fit.
Smile at each other.
He pays.
She calls him a gentleman.
He laughs at that.
Says he's far from it.
She leans into his arm.
He lets his hand go to her waist.
She flinches at the touch.
You can tell she's not used to boys.
He recoils at her reaction,
Face red.
She smiles.
Mind adjusted.
Leans into his arm again.
He lets his hand be guided to her once more.
It's all reflexes.
They pick up their orders.
You hope they'll sit down.
They do.
You get your normal order.
Then pause.
Something different for an abnormal occasion?
Re-order.
They twitch at your indecision.
You let an apology slip from your mouth.
Not that you really mean it.
Sit down. Take a sip. Take it in.
This is a night of revelations.