It's Like That

Polite Good-byes

One by One

The Ardent Summer Glow

The Closest I'll Come.

What Might be Happening.

This is the part where something was supposed to happen. Something convincingly carnal. He's supposed to step towards me and set his hands on the merchandise and let out the long, pleased breath. He's supposed to palpate my shoulder the way most men always think women enjoy. He's supposed to brush my hair back and press his mouth against my ear and murmur something spine chilling that I'd later find cheesy. 

But he doesn't make his move. Instead, he stares at the glow of decorative lights outlining the tree line. For a second I think I might be losing him. Then he turns to me and looks directly at me and I can feel the jolt of it all, this strange little half concession to what might be happening here.

We were there for what felt like a very long time, maybe five minutes. But you've never had minutes like these. We stared into each other. Mostly you wait for a second or two, a half second maybe. And then you spend your entire life trying to describe that moment. To regain the perspective. We spent our seconds digesting the evening.