We, familiar with this kind of thing,
knew the cost.
We knew we would wake up
Ill-rested,
Tired,
Eyelids swollen,
Sleep inadequate,
Head slightly pulsing from
the late housrs
and the wine
of the night before.
A night in a basement-restaurant
And stories of our youth
And memories gilded with laughter
And our passionate hopes for the future we dream to build
On this fast-spinning blue planet,
Each of us lavished with a narrow time-line.
Sometimes, on magic nights,
We know both how beautiful life can be
and, also,
at the same time,
how limited our share will be–
short and eventually ending.
And so we order all of the courses we can think to order–
Starters and
Entrees and
Hot drinks
And then, afterwards,
Gelato
just because
life is short and often rainy
but gelato under umbrellas, together, sweets the deal.
When we have run out of excuses, we part, slowly, somehow unable to say, still, all that we want
to say.
.
.
.
And we wake up tired.
.
.
.
It is a small price to pay
For magic such as this.
