Down the Stairs

There she was.

Late to the diner. Just another reminder of what I signed up for. Gazing out the window with my coffee cup hitting my lips. Passerby holding hands offering a glimpse of what could be...if she just showed up. Timeliness was never her strength. Gazing at the apps wondering exactly what I signed up for.

There I was.

A quarter past eight and we agreed on seven. My coffee and sugar is now just sugar, like an hourglass out of sand. The waitress stands awkwardly in the corner, wondering if I've been stood up. Yes, I was. The place is dead, as dead as my date. She says "Wait. I get off in twenty. I can keep you company if you'd let me. This twenty-four-seven diner never closes but I suppose you can meet me at the entrance. You won't regret this," she announced without much hesitance.

One date in, she's got coffee on her apron, wondering about her appearance. I told her, "We've all got stains. Some of us are better at tucking them away. Some of us wear them proudly without interference." She smiled, sat back, and her apron flew freely. Said "Got nothing to hide, this is the real me." Took a drag from her smoke and broke into laughter. "I'm working for six more months but I don't know about after. Hope I can find somewhere soon." I told her I hope we can eat there too.

One date later, it's a quarter past eight and we agreed on seven. She took her time out to get to the door. I've seen this play out too many times before. But as she stepped out a few moments after, I managed to get my anger down. Staring at a perfect view. Surrounded by buildings but I got tunnel vision. The minutes on a clock didn't matter. Colors saturated. I never knew the spectrum had so many colors. She tapped on the window. "Listen. Sorry we're running behind." She got my mind running. I can't even speak. "Where are we eating again? Could you please remind me?" My memory plays back the five seconds she sauntered from door to door. Twenty minutes later it haunts me.

And there she was.

Twenty dates later,  it's a quarter past eight and we agreed on seven. She took her time down the stairs, and all my anger left me. She took her time on makeup and hair, and I've never seen her so pretty. That's when it hit me. It's already eight but I don't care that we're late as long as she's with me.

Two thousand dates later, she took her time down the stairs. Her aching bones grow heavy. A wrinkled hand grasps to the rail, but I swear she never looked so pretty. That's when it hit me. It's already eight but I don't care that we're late as long as she's with me.

Fifty dates after, it's a quarter past eight and we agreed on seven. She said, "Don't mind being late, just keep on living." She took her time up the stairs, and the anger lifted as she left me. Ascended somewhere far from here, I hope they don't count time in heaven. That's when it hit me. It's already eight but I don't care that we're late as long as she's with me."

Yeah, that's when it hit me. Sorry, babe, you'll have to wait up late for me. When I walk up the stairs to your floor. I'll have many stories with me. I'll be late to the diner. Just a reminder of what we signed up for.