She told me, "call me sometime,"
as she slid the menu across the table
-her number scribbled at the bottom
of the attached notepad paper.
My fingers traced the edges of the
paper, prickly and smooth, opposites
like us.
Skimming the menu, I slid the torn paper
back to her-no exchange of words-
and watched as she scoffed and ripped it into
shreds, threw it at my wrinkled shirt,
and shuffled into the back of the
cafe. I heard a chuckle from
the end of the battered place.
A chuckle from you, in your
dark blue sweater, light blue
eyes, ice blue lips, and a heart
of pale blue-I knew you
were not like them because
as soon as the smile faltered on
your lips, it quickly disappeared.
Because you were just blue.
