(Y/N) and I met for lunch this time instead of coffee. It was a good meal.
She told me about a Shakespeare play she read. I'd forgotten all about his plays. She talked about complicated symbolisms and things that I couldn't even fathom. She talked about themes and topics and other words that made my brain hurt.
"You still dance, right?" She asked.
"I do," I responded curtly.
"I'm just interested," she shrugged.
"What do you do?" I asked.
"Not much," she replied. She had a devious smile on her face.
"Cmon," I urged.
"I write a bit of poetry. Nothing overwhelmingly good. More free form kind of stuff, you know?" She asked.
"I'll strike you a deal. You can watch me dance, but only if I can read one of your poems," I bargained.
"Deal," she responded.
Today, I feel: interested.