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Waxy O' Connor's

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Staring at that tree at Waxy O'Connor's. And then going downstairs and taking the same exact seat of last time.
That last time.
And no waiting for a beer thinking how much you love him, but just going, taking the beer by yourself and looking puzzled at things that changed.
You deserved it because not everything can be retrieved. You know it now. Therefore, just a beer, not a kiss, not a fuss, not in love, promising eyes.
Therefore, a beer, trying to be interested to what the person with you is saying. He is fun, after all, if you fight back all those thoughts, the person can make you laugh at least.
Trying, once again, to fight back all is going on inside your heart and mind. No way, it has to stay all inside. It can't possibly fight its way back on surface. You mean it this time. You are there to laugh with the person with you. To have a nice evening out.
The only problem is that, as days go by, you miss him more and more. You keep on living but can't really forget. And as long as you remember, you can't help it.
This is not desperation, this is melancholic solitude. And missing.
But, then again, this is what True Love does. It goes missing.

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