You’re a girl whose love knows no bounds and I’m a girl with singularity; you’re my best friend

You’re married but I’m sitting across from you and dull, red neon light is beginning to permeate my aura.

You’re kissing a guy we’ve only known for a week and I’m feeling like a third wheel that’s either entirely useless or unnecessary. Or both.
You know, like those Reliant Robins from the seventies that toppled over with every corner taken.

I don’t know where to look.

You’re toying with this guy and I’m just watching your smile enchant him. He’s wrapped so tightly around your little finger I can see it dusking and purpling from across the table. Even in this carmine light I can see both your colours changing.

He’s wearing a two piece suit and it’s grey, I think it’s polyester. You’re wearing a striped leotard and you’re too cold in your denim shorts so I leave you two alone and go buy a blanket.

When I get back to our table, he excuses himself to go to the little boys room and, you tell me how he makes you happy and that you have six heart bones that work in unison. “If one goes down”, you say, “they all do”. I say “like Christmas lights”, you grin with your eyes and this wide row of pearly teeth that have tiny gaps between the tops.
I only notice because I stare at your face most every day, I don’t know what I’ll do when you leave.

He comes back with open arms and eyes wide, the nuanced inflexion of his speech draws you in. Remember this: he is an actor. See exaggeration, see charisma.
See, confidence.

You play off one another all evening.
I flick through the photographs we all had taken in an old photobooth earlier, when the sun was still visible and the sky was blue but it’s night now. You look like you are a part of each other, connected with some invisible twine. Perhaps someone bundled you together in butchers paper and carefully sewed all your seams to one anothers coats, ensuring your coming together for maybe you feel naked when your sides are split and missing their counterparts.

He calls me your familiar. I don’t know where that phrase fits on the insult scale but I feel like it’s pretty high up there.
Suggesting I cannot be without you to dote upon. Sure, I do my very best to be the best friend you could have but that’s because I’ve never had a friend who cares about me even half as much as I care for them.
I’ve had ‘friends’ before, they’ve all turned out to be liars and worms, the kind of girl’s who’d sleep with your boyfriend before and after telling you how he’d never cheat on you. The kind of girl’s who’d rather consume all the attention than let anyone even ask for your name.

This red light is achingly beautiful, romantic and soft; maybe that’s why he can’t keep his hands in his pockets and yours on your drink.

Everything in this light makes me feel lonely.
The tender’s are laughing together, there is a couple who look like maybe it’s their first date and their timid hands are wanting more than to clutch the glasses before them. Their mouths are moving and their eyes are watching their mouths. Even the plants look like they’re in love.

I glance back across the table when I hear you say my name. Look at you, perched on his polyester lap. Looks like you’ve been there all along, your whole life even.

“I think it’s time to go home, dinner’s been delivered and I’m kinda hungry”


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