In my dream, I am explaining to you why we will never meet in person.
I tell you that I can see the future, and I know what will happen.
There's a restaurant that, from the outside, looks like the restaurant that looked like a gleaming art deco train station all filled with booths side by side like the world was rushing by even when it was standing still where my father used to take me for Shirley Temples when I was small, which I keep driving by but never have the courage to stop at. We meet there on Thursday, I agonize over the decision between a lingerie set that looks intriguing and one that creates an hourglass shape under my dress. As we're sitting there talking, it begins to rain, and the sound of it on the tin roof and your voice lulls me into staring at your lips.
You think you're fucking up, because you don't realize how much I like the sound of your voice. I'm too out of it, so I blush and try to carry it off as charming vulnerability when I tell you, and you just keep talking to me, teasing me about it, and it's all going well until I hear a clatter, and the waitress is setting down one of those cream colored plastic restaurant plates with a slice of pie on it, vanilla ice cream just starting to curl at the edges.
You see the panic in my eyes, and I tell you
"It's nothing, I'm just... reminded of someone." and you loop your fingers through mine there on the table and squeeze, rhythmically, just a little too hard. My thudding heart slows itself down to match. You might as well have it in your hands.
In the dream, you ask why I would say no to that, it sounds nice.
I tell you that it's not how the story ends. Is it ever? It's never just ice cream and awkward silences and wet hair clinging to the back of my neck as I run to the car and ruining the satin on a new pair of heels that match the bra straps that won't stay tucked into my shirt, somehow. I can see the future, and one day this will be an ugly shock to be reminded of.