drink up, dreams

and then she and I shared two bottles of chards between us. The two of you sat with your dark brews and talked of old times, and all I could think about was whether you could see my well-placed lingerie peeking out of my shirt-dress. And four hours later when we were rolling drunk and I'd desperately had four glasses of water and one spew to no avail, you leaned closer and spilled the troubles of men finding women and women not wanting men, I realised that in another life perhaps we could have matched, would have completed one another like cheese completes a chicken parmagiana and a marshmallow completes a hot chocolate. We looked at each other in a way she didn't recognise and we thought maybe, but I leave in over a week though I don't know it yet, and you are searching for someone a bit more different, a bit more, I don't know, less stable maybe, somebody you can lose yourself with because with me you can't get lost if everybody reminds you what you should and should not be doing with me (or more to the point, they don't even know), how are you supposed to be that

and she sat with her vodka lemon lime and bitters and I sat with mine and she waved her hands about her head and said see, you're both dreamers and I'm a realist, and I said yes you need dreams apart from your work life, though she could not understand this, my fifteen-years-long friend, and you and I sat beside each other with thoughts of our respective will-never-be-published novels, and the world will move for us, because as much as you might not know or realise or want to know, my friend, the world does move for dreams. The world feels the power of a real vision, a truth and a goal of a person with a good heart and good mind. And you and I sat at the table with metal chairs and cold air drifting over the land and I thought yes, you know what, maybe I don't want you but I want this