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.