You grip the laces tightly between your fingers, refusing to look up at the woman a few paces from you. She’s tapping her foot impatiently. You want to say something to her. Anything to make her anger disappear. But it’s not that easy.
It’s never easy. Someone told you that once but you can’t remember who. Or maybe you heard it in a movie? One of those cheesy romance comedies that people say they hate but really love? Yeah, that one. That’s where it came from.
Words. Advice from friends and movies. Celebrities. Therapists. All of them, claiming to know what to do in this situation. They know. Somehow they know. But what about you? Don’t you know?
It’s traveling through your body, bringing you up short before her. She’s not angry. She’s tired. You can see it in her eyes and isn’t that a little cliché? When did you become such a sap?
But now you’re just stalling. You’re talking to yourself to keep your mind away from this present. This night here. It’s important somehow. You know it is. One look at her and it’s terrifying.
It’s her. It’s always been her.
Written while listening to Stars’ “The Night Starts Here“