We finished up dinner. And while we washed our hands in separate bathrooms, we figured we’ll run each other over with penetrating glances, before our footsteps become heard.
Half-way out the doorway of the empty bathroom hallway, we made the sound of quiet flirting murmurs and whispers, breathing like laughing; we’re five again.
And she held on to my arm like we were walking through a
parallel steps, rhythmically in-time and I’m hearing unexpected snickers,
her soft voice echoed amongst the department store’s bright and public
That’s how I knew she was the one,
when she told me she loved glassware,
when she wanted to design her own kitchen,
fuck, it we’ll get our own dining-set,
she says,
it’s her new life.
And while she ran off searching for more stories to relieve from solitude,
I held a glass replica of an enigmatic and obnoxiously colored bird,
it had the reflection of human imperfection and dysfunctionallty,
but it was strong, like ten-paper weights infused with the sturdiness of a metal bookend, or door stopper.
I felt emotional holding a fragment of a possibly mass produced glass sculpture.
I fell in love with it.
That’s how I knew she was the one to save me.


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