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Stop. 

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I was standing on the corner of 3rd and Hudson, smoking the last cigarette of the pack.  A cadence of vibrations in my pocket had to let me know she was looking for me.  She never did very well with just coming right out and saying things. If you want to see me woman, all you gotta do is show up.

I was wearing these brown boots my sister had bought me years ago.   They were somewhere in between saying southern bred and ass-kicker. I didn’t know I should have worn my oxfords.  I didn’t know that I’d needed to dress for the occasion.

She came in that coffee shop sweeping up the floors.  I mean, heads turned on that lady, quicker than they were designed to.  I knew she knew; hell I knew she did it intentionally but she’d never draw attention to it. That dress? What exactly did she call that color? Doesn’t matter.  It stopped my heart just like she meant it to.  

We took our seat at the back of the shop, at a tall rise table, and my boots hung clumsily off the foot rail.  All the sudden they felt too big on my body.  I felt too big for my body. My face flushed, I could feel the capillaries dilating right under my skin, everywhere, all at once.  I tried to act like I didn’t know something was up but she looked back at me with those eyes.  They changed color when her heart hurt.  They were grey now, bad news, the only time I’d rather her have the blues.  

Her lipstick matched her dress- not by hue but by complement. I imagined her combing through an organized drawer of cosmetics, just looking for the right one.  We both knew there was magic in the details.  I let her know I appreciated her positive perfectionism.

She didn’t blush at the compliment.  Adversely, she got pale beneath that powder and paint.

She said, I wanted to tell you in person

I sipped my latte, the sugared syrup was stale, but I couldn’t complain.  It was better than the news I was hearing. Something something, still love him, something, something, gotta go and find out, something something, a last goodbye.

She picked up her clutch and slipped out the door.  I watched her walk, but I was the only one this time.   I sat at that table, my boots were still too big on my body, but my body was too big for me too now. My fingers were cold and I tried to use the rest of my cup’s heat to warm them.  It didn’t work.  I got chills all over.  I stared out the window, seeing a part of her at the backs of every woman on Hudson that day.  I had forgotten to watch her fade off into the distance, as if maybe that classic scene could save something that never really started.  Isn’t that how it works in the movies?  Lonely sucker, stranded somehow in suspense at the sight of watching the one get away.

I wanted to say, Please don’t get on that plane. Don’t go to Denver. Stop chasing someone who will never love you back. I wanted to say, My beautiful disaster, my hopeless mistake. Stay here.  

 

 


 

 

The song I'm playing as an undertrack came from a seperate original song of mine, which can be heard here.

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