he takes me to starbucks like we're some sort of cliche.
him: what's that folder and notebook you always carry around for?
me: oh, nothing special.
him: you're always scribbling stuff down. i saw you stuff a papertowel into your purse at the prom last night. it had words on it.
me: oh.
him: spontaneous poetry?
me: i write little things down.
him: what about?
me: mostly you.
him: really?
me: yeah.
him: why? why me?
me: i don't want to forget you.
him: ...
me: us.
him: that's...
me: ...
him: that's just...
me: ....
him: i didn't think i was worth remembering.
me: well, you're wrong.
him: what do you write about me?
me: sometimes, the things you say. what you do. what i think about you.
him: oh, so you write down my jokes so you can use 'em later?
me: totally, cooper.
him: i still write you poetry.
me: i hope you're still not trying to rhyme 'orange' with anything.
him: i gave up on that one.
me: can i read them?
him: maybe, some day.
me: so... now?
him: oh, princess. i should edit them before that happens.
me: i'm sure they're perfect.
him: i actually have a poetry blog.
me: you do?
him: now you know my darkest secrets.
me: can i see it?
him: some day, love.
me: okay.
him: are you angry?
me: no, i'm okay with it. i get that, poetry is personal and i respect your privacy. more so than your jokes.
him: god, i'm lucky.
me: ...
him: i must have done something damn fantastic in a past life to deserve this.
me: ...
him: to deserve you.
me: ...
him: that's right, continue to drink your coffee as you blush.
me: shush.
him: you're glaring at me with that smile on your face again.
me: i'll drink that coffee if you're not going to.
now there's starbucks napkins to add to the collection. red ink.
YOU ARE READING
little talks
Randomi needed to write down almost everything he had said, to reassure myself that he had been real, that we were something that lasted; at least for a little while. - nina [ © jude rigor two-thousand-&-thirteen ]
