i want to lean across the table and whisper, "this is how it could be if we dated."
i would crochet and you would read,
your books and tobacco and my yarn and scissors filling the space between us.
and that endearing and sometimes annoying (and much missed) habit of drumming on your thighs.
you need to leave to rectify the problem of not drinking a drop for a week.
i tell you to look for Orion.
you say you will, but i'd rather you offer me your hand so that i can leave with you and point out my new seven favorite stars myself.
but no. i'm alone with my hook and yarn and a half-finished granny square and the question of "well, how should i go forward?"