How You Don’t Have To Open Your Eyes To See At Night

28 Apr

Once we arrived at the bar called Night everything changed. The air sounded like water and the lighting was perfect, ambient the way I like it. I care less how the food tastes and more about the feeling inside the place.

At the bar called Night everyone was dancing even when they were standing around sipping drinks, talking, or pissing in the corner. The bartenders were us looking in the mirror behind the bar, like Mary Poppins harmonizing with her own reflection. And we smiled at each other for no reason. The conflict was gone, dissolved, forgotten. Like we were in a blackout but not drunk and sick. Just revamped.

At the bar called Night we smiled at each other for every reason. We held hands and walked a loop around the place, our feet sticking to the beer stained floor, crackling with each step in a satisfying way. The past was a dream we couldn’t remember and the people were all parts of you and me and the us we make together.

And then, at the bar called Night, for a moment I remembered the last time we weren’t together. We were in the same room, but on opposite corners. The lighting was fluorescent and there were no other people. No music. No hands to hold. No heat. The memory arrived but was too weak to sustain itself. I brushed it aside and you hardly noticed. You hardly noticed so I didn’t say anything.


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