Dancing by Laurita Miller
It won’t be long before I come back inside. It’s too cold out there anyway.
Neither of us meant the things that were said, so let’s just forget them for now.
Put on some music and turn it down low. I like the feeling of your arms around me.
I’ll let you drag me around this old, scarred floor until we’re back where we started.
LINES IN THE SAND
You draw dark lines in the sand and tell me they are truth. Wet grains stick to your finger and you carelessly brush them away. You whisper to me and I enjoy your words, but they are the ocean in an empty shell. Such pretty lies.
ACROSS A CROWDED ROOM
His eyes, long lidded, fringed with soft lashes, glance in her direction and her pulse quickens.
Their friendly chatter blends with the conversations around them, mingles with the clink and clatter of a busy café.
She brings her cup to her lips, pretending to sip, drawing out her time with him.
He leans ahead, his hair, just a little too long, falling across his cheek and she imagines that delicate sensation against her own skin. Too soon he stands, long elegant fingers working the buttons of his coat. He walks toward the door, pauses, and kisses his love goodbye.
She turns her focus into her cup, unable to watch.
His thoughts will soon be occupied with other things – his music, his work.
Hers would linger on the curve of his lips and the ache of not being the one.
This drama is exhausting. You speak at no one in particular, ever displaying your pithy prose – the tragic hero’s soliloquy.
You tell me of sweet sorrow, and yet I do not feel it when we part. When the lights go down and the curtain is drawn, there is serenity in the silence.
I do not want to be your Juliet. No one will survive the last scene.