In your drunken haze you some how recoginised your table 35. In your drunken loud-mouthed haze you ask. You ask him. If he was there. He was there. He's here and was there. He's wearing a black coat and out of place just like you. Together you're two misfits. And its lovely.
But now your wishing you went to the Bridge that next week. Now you're shaking your head to wash away your illusion of him walking down the street or sitting on your bed. Now you're missing his calls and sending desperate texts off your friends phone to a number that may be his. Hoping he'll reply- which he won't. You're being teased now, doing double takes on boys with curly hair. Its Monday night again and you're catching yourself out looking for someone who isn't going to be there.
m.
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