leaning against the glass window
and looking back
we have torn through this daily newspaper
adding our own flourishing decorations
circling apartments jobs
cars
that we like to think we would buy
if we could

playing house with you
in the red booths
my skirt reaches to the floor

you lean against the table
and i know i will never be able
to come back here
without remembering

years later
what is it that will pop to my mind?
the drawings?
the way two backpacks and coats
look forming a heap on the
red table surface?
the smell? reaching our feet far enough
to touch the other side?
sitting with our backs to the
television? wasting the hours wonderfully?

years later
what will i remember?

years later
what can i keep?