We Said Goodnight Twice
You didn't step back and I didn't open the door. Nothing happened. That's the part I keep replaying.
we closed the place down again. not on purpose, it just happens, everyone leaves and then it's the two of us and the bartender flipping chairs and neither of us reaches for our coat. you were telling some story with your hand flat on the table and i watched your fingers instead of listening. i know your boyfriend's name. you know i know. that's sort of the whole thing, isn't it.
in the lot you walked me to my car even though yours was closer. stood at the door while i found my keys. there was this second where the streetlight buzzed and you didn't step back and i didn't open the door and the whole night just held there, both of us pretending to look for something to say. then you said drive safe and i said you too and we both did the thing where we say goodnight and then say it again. i'm in the car now, engine off. i could still see your tail lights sitting at a green light a beat too long before you went. i don't want anything to happen. that's what i can't explain to myself at 2am. the not-happening is the part i'll be thinking about all week.
Did this one stay with you?
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