table for two


Date place,
I think, and then of course I think of you. Where do they come from, all these ideas of you and me? One of these days we can have brunch in my apartment—there'll be cinnamon toast because it's easy, and fresh oranges on the table because I know you like them, and bacon because duh, bacon; I'll wash the dishes and you won't even have to dry, you can just sit on the couch and read a book. Rest. It'll be nice, quiet. Maybe we'll walk around the mall like teenagers. I'll let you talk me into those proper shoes. I'll let you talk and talk, because the last time you did that was such a long time ago, when your voice felt as crisp and clear as the evening air. Dinner will be at this little gem down the street: We can split the cheese fondue. You can choose the wine. We don't even have to stay out late. How many plans have I made for us, exactly?