The restaurant provided the atmosphere.
A table.
Glasses sweating under dim lights.
Plates of food slowly going cold
because we kept talking.
About dreams.
About the stupid beautiful things
people are afraid to want.
You once again finding
your personality.
The one of motion,
packed bags and open roads.
The kind of mornings
where you don’t quite know
what is next.
I laughed,
because it had been a while
since I heard you talk like that
without apologizing for it.
Somewhere between the first drink
and the sun setting,
something in me relaxed.
A quiet electricity
running through me.
The kind that makes you drive home
with the windows down.
Thinking maybe,
just maybe,
the best part
of life isn’t something
that already happened to you.
Maybe it’s still
leaning forward,
waiting for you to say yes.