tick. i pull at my collar; it feels tight around my neck. tick. glance at the time. tick. tick.
where is he? i bite my fingertips, a nervous habit of mine i suppose. i can only see, hear, remember in flashes: he comes to me as such. fingers through hair, breath against my neck. we move in sync, like ebb and flow, like one. or was it all in my head? i swallow the remainder of my drink, signal the waiter for another. seems like i’m always waiting. does he ever have to wait? my eyes fixed on the flicking exit sign above the entrance. i could leave right now, he would never know. but i don’t. neither do i want to.