If she calls you you will go to her

You’ll sit alone knowing she’s alone too, probably pacing the way she does or tearing paper into ever smaller strips. She’ll know you’re there. You’re always there for her.

But the night will pass. She’ll call you tomorrow in the light of a new day. You’ll meet her at Butchers where the coffee’s good, to talk and talk and talk. She’ll tell you she’s been an idiot again. You won’t hear of it. There’ll be pauses for tears and laughter. You’ll tell her he wasn’t right for her and you think she’s better off without him.

In the end, when you’ve both run out of words to repeat, she’ll go her way with a smile that shows she’s forgetting him already. Little by little. She’ll say goodbye with the whisper of a kiss beside your ear. A kiss between friends.

And as you go your way, alone again, the sweet promise between you will hang, as before, like a blossom out of reach.