Dates and Butterflies
I put on my best dress. The one I got last week from a polished store down the street. It’s blue with specks of white, covering my waist in the most flattering way one can say. I put on my red lipstick and curl my hair, deciding whether to wear heels or rather play it safe?
I go with the white sneaks considering it a better choice when we walk down the little street down the lane. I sit inside the cafe reading through the menu for the hundredth time. All polished and prepped trying to calm the nerves dancing in the pit of my belly for the last time.
We talked with such ease all night, stopping only when the lights of the outer world knocked the doors of the one we made our own. Talking about everything between the lines and enjoying the easy laughs we coaxed out of the other right on time.
Then why is it that the thought of seeing a person I feel I’ve known all my life seems to prick the back of my mind? Will you be the same person I talked to till the dawn of the morning lights?
I tap my legs under the table waiting for your arrival to put a stop to my uneasy mind. The clock strikes six and I hear the door chime. It’s you searching through the crowd when soon your eyes strike mine.
You give a huge smile, but I see your nervousness reflecting mine, peeping through your eyes. At least I know we are on the same page this time.
We sit, we smile, fumbling for words to fill the pause. I trace my bracelets and your hands run through your hair. I see you catching my eyes only to quickly look away yet again.
But soon, this trance breaks when you say something mildly funny yet fail terribly and it’s like we are back to a place where I feel I’ve known you half my age. And as we laugh, eating waffles and fries, I look at you and think maybe this is not going so bad after all.
