you're there,
perched on the edge a bar stool,
smiling from behind a pint of beer,
the kind of grin that reveals the dimple buried in your right cheek
and makes me feel as though sunrise was born in your mouth.
you're there,
voice crackling through the white noise of the telephone line,
whispering vague reassurances and empty promises in my ear
with that accent that reminds me
that you're not from here.
you're there,
blowing smoke rings into the september air
as our fingertips graze against each other
and our size six feet fall in unison
against the monochrome pavement.
except you're not there.
you exist in two places;
one is out of reach,
and the other is in my head.
the version of you i know
was born in my imagination,
and lives somewhere between
my delusions and what i wish was my reality.
YOU ARE READING
Small Talk
Poetry❝ we're just fumbling through the grey, trying to find a heart that's not walking away. ❞ [ a collection of drabbles, musings and poetry: sometimes i like to pretend that i can write poetry when there's things i want to get off my chest ]
