third

i wore my favorite shirt on our third date; i save it for special occasions.

i had a glass of bubbly before meeting you in the lobby. very seldom does my heart race this early on.

we walked to the italian restaurant in your neighborhood and i ordered champagne. you did too. i liked that.

i knew the third date would be special.

the dining room was far too loud, but i zeroed in on all the words you said.

the storm of voices from the other diners, the clatter of plates and silverware and the music all faded out as you told me about your former broken heart. and you told me all about how you’ve grown and you can’t believe you were sitting on a date with me. you felt so happy.

i knew the third date would be special.

i said to myself, “finally, somebody who won’t hurt me. he knows exactly what it feels like.” i thanked God for letting our paths cross.

i ordered another glass of champagne; this one to celebrate.

that was months ago.

and now i sit with a bottle to myself, sipping the same crisp drink, my favorite shirt hangs untouched in my closet and i’m just wondering where the hell you went. i’m wondering why the hell you hurt me. and i’m asking God why the hell our paths ever crossed.

this is me and my fav shirt and my bubbly, right before the third date.

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say it to my face, dude. (enter your comment below, i love all forms of feedback)

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