A lonely walk

Faced with the option of merlot or pity I choose the glass every time, especially now as a Mr. No Name goes on and on about nothing really, I fane interest as he drones on about his success, his strength, his awesomeness. I sip and nod, looking perfectly pleasant all the while thinking about how in the hell I ended up here, on a date with a man who could better recall my measurements than my own name. Just then our waitress arrives and I’m relieved when he asks for the check and then instantly filled with dread as he proceeds to invite me over. This part was all too familiar to me and in that moment it felt like every date I’d ever gone on was replaying into this endless void where I’m stuffed like a pig for someone else’s pleasure. I stare blankly through Mr. No Name, slide my chair back, turn on my heel and walk out.

It’s cold out on the night street, and under a blanket of black is the sound of a wounded mans pride following me. My face is chilled and my shoes click rhythmically down the sidewalk but my heart beat feels like it’s two blocks ahead. I’d never done something like this before, but I refused to look back, refused to talk sweet, refused to explain. I marched on in quiet fear hoping he would simply give up and eventually he does. I’m relieved to be amongst the bustling rumble of the night, relieved to be lost once again. A few blocks later and Mr. No name seems like a distant memory as I turn the corner of my apartment building to find a girl pissing in the bushes. Now I don’t usually make it a habit to watch someone do their business but my disgust cloaks my body, obvious enough for the pissing girl to say, “Oh, you own this block?”. I stop dead in my tracks and look down at this creature, she had a look of chic chaos, a true city born whereas I was just a passerby and even in the dark her eyes gleamed a curious color hazel, bewitching really, like trouble. I start on, with every intention of leaving her in the darkness same with Mr. No Name, but unlike him she catches up. She’s still buttoning her shorts as she matches stride with me and after a few inquisitive looks over only to find a smiling face, I’m alarmed by how calm I feel. I stop again, my face a questioning smirk, I start on with more gusto and as does she.

“We can turn up here,” she whispers and I quietly obey.

This is a part of the city I hadn’t become familiar with in my short time here, it was a flow of vibrancy I hadn’t quite experienced in the hustle bustle life as I knew it. The streets were lightly lit and I could feel my anticipation for what was to come growing. How the night had changed and before I knew it we were walking down the steps to a place you know isn’t on yelp. A true gem. We take a seat at a dimly lit coffee table, one amongst few scattered about the tastefully decorated cafe. I’ve always wanted to go to an authentic poetry reading and I try to conceal my excitement to this absolutely perfect stranger. She smiles and then heads to the stage.

She was a Spinster

Sold her heart to highest bidder

A sinner

Lost in a game, thinking she was a winner

She bled, lied, and cried

And in time…

Fell in love with herself

a curse at first...

Transmuted to Trust

And THAT is a must

A tear falls down my cheek that I wipe away before she gets back to the table.

We talk for hours, and from the cafe head to a pizza parlor, then back to my place where I pour us both a glass of Merlot, toast and cheers, laugh and cry.

I ended the night not in the arms of another lover, but on a couch with a new friend.