Last night in those
moments before sleep when
thoughts become half-dream half-fantasy, I imagined the two of us eating dinner in a restaraunt.
Ruby Tuesday's I think it was. I told you how
wonderful you were, and you smiled with
pleasure and said that
someday I would find a
wonderful girl to fall
madly in love with, and that she would be very lucky. Please don't say such things, I said. I know you mean them with the
sweetest of intentions, but for me it is just another way of saying that you aren't
interested.
I know well that you aren't, and there is no need for repetition.
Let me just
pretend in these few moments that it is the twenties, that
pocket watches and
fedoras are in style, and that all cars are
stick shifts. Let me pretend that
I am a struggling hack of a writer,
enamored of the
belladonna who sings at the local bar. Let me imagine that I am telling her for
the first time how sweet her voice is, and how
beautiful her eyes, and how she makes me feel like I have a
motive force in my life once again. Allow me to fantasize for these few brief minutes that
the future is open and unknown, that I have said all of these things, and there has yet to be any answer. When I go
home, and even when I am here with you, I will always know the
truth.
Dreams can be beautiful though, and in some ways
fufilling. So please let me dream, just for a bit.
I like my
anachronisms just fine, thank you.