There’s a couple crying
At the table next to me
I pretend to watch the TV
Blaring out rubbish about nothing
Above their heads
But I can see them
Through the haze
Of emotion
A couple dying
And dreams lie gasping
At the bottom of empty cups
She’s holding his head so gently
Her eyes are pouring out pain
I can’t see him
With his back to me
But he shudders and heaves
Every few seconds
And she’s wiping at his eyes
With her fingers

And just for an instant
In a moment of agony and despair
She glances up at me
From his damp shoulder
And suddenly I am dragged, spinning screaming
Into her life
And that is the last coffee
We will ever drink together
And that is my bus ticket
Lying on the table
Between us,
Waiting to take me
Away from you
And you’re looking inside me
And destroying me
And I’m drowning in the wetness
Of your eyes
And your legs with longing

But then you flick back to him
And I am pretending to watch the TV
Way above your heads
Forehead to forehead
In each other
And maybes and whys
And you stand, both, shaking
As the bus driver calls again
And she is running to her old white moped
And desperately stabbing the key
And racing, racing
Next to the bus, mouthing
‘I love you, I love you’
And he just staring, staring
At those pools where he drowned
Where I drowned
And for nine hours he turned
Again and again
To look through that same window
Just in case
She’d been able to keep up



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