Your hair is a mess and your smile stings. My tongue trips. You say you know what I mean. The time disappears as the words finally slip. You call me out and I stare at the floor. The empty glasses on the table begin to pile like medals. We both chug from our cups, not knowing what to say next. Wondering if we have said too much, or perhaps, not enough. Quick glances suggest that there might be more, but I wont say.
Next thing I know we are on the road. Jammed in a backseat swaying with corners. Your hand finds my knee and decides to stay. I think it feels nice. Right.
I watch your steps as you walk to your door. Careful. Implied.
I try to mimic them as I climb the stairs to my own. But mine are unsteady.