Seeing you at bars. Glancing away slightly and pretending not to notice. I probably should have fucked someone else by now, but my lazy ass hasn’t really mustered up the courage to spend enough money and time at the bar so that I can find another one night stand. Although, here I am again, lingering again in the back with the rest of my “All the Single Ladies” in an almost formation, practically a chorus line. And that’s why I’m here, tequila in hand, looking as glamorous as I can at twelve o’clock at night.
Maybe you’re not the one I want to see right now, but here we are, and we see each other. Awkwardly. And I wonder why we didn’t fuck again, and i wonder why we didn’t text again, and it’s cold. It’s oh so very cold outside, mostly because it’s January in the Bay, and we don’t really know the exact definition of cold in this wonderful weather. But I do. And you do, too, because here we are, being cold to each other. Acting indifferent, yet, I wonder, are we truly indifferent? Or is this just a guise at a bar behind alcohol with friends, and I can shrug it off, and I can laugh it off, and I can continue on in my conversation about whatever inane, drunken bar topic I have chosen tonight. And you can whither off into the distance again, like you always did, and that is fine.
I guess that’s why they call it a one night stand. Because it only happens once.