Window Seat

I don't think much about you,
except when I'm sitting here like this.
Picturing your slender figure sitting across from me;
the shadow of you, scratching ideas into your book.
Stopping to sip your drink, to smile up at me
with your warm, infectious grin.
But then, you're not really here.
The radio fades back into hearing,
and the people drift into existence once again
as I slip back into reality to write these words.
To pen the memory of you into my notebook
for safekeeping from my forgetful mind.

I've bought another drink
to feel your presence a little longer.
The night is creeping in
but the cafe lights still burn strong, comforting,
with the sounds of Sinatra
coming from the speaker.
I don't know if I want you here,
but I know I miss the feel of you next to me,
and why I gave you up I have no idea
but I know I miss the feel of you.