Lovers in a dangerous time.
It's funny to think that I can't even remember how we met, given that I think about you all the time. I can't even remember your name. Is that bad? Because you were there when I needed you most. Like a beacon in the dark, a street light on a country road, an open Chinese restaurant at 3am on a Saturday.
You were beautiful, your glowing face lit up mine. And I knew instantly that inside you were beautiful too. I loved your perfume, your open door, the moody waiters... We had some laughs, some spills (sorry about the tablecloth) and some thrills. Your Szechuan Chicken was crispy, sweet and sour, your spring rolls not completely soggy, and your duck fat and juicy. The beer was bad, and the waiter brought it after our main course, but that may have been a clever move on your part.
Life with you was so easy: a dream, a blurred, nausea-fuelled trip. It's strange how you stumble into love, and waiters, when you least expect it. It's funny how, even with booze and soy sauce all over your insides, I still got a dry smile from you. Like you knew me, or my type. You understood me so well. You knew my carb and protein needs, that flowing tap water was a good idea and easy access to the loo vital.
I'm sorry our goodbye was so abrupt. I'm sorry I underpaid. You slammed the door in my face, but you had to. I didn't want to leave, and that counts for something.
But dear lover, my lady of the night. It was a case of right time, wrong person. It kills me to say it. Maybe I'll see you again. Maybe one day we'll walk past each other and smile. In the cold light of day our beauty will be gone, but that doesn't make the memories any less special.
Or blurred.
All my love,
The drunkest guy in that drunk group last night
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