i am lurking in a corner of the cafe,
waiting for my sister, just three more hours to go,
and diagonally across from me there are two people.
the woman talks
and the man smiles, watches
i am compelled to think that he is in love with her
from the set of his mouth to the way he tilts his head
he hunches forward, forearms on the table
it all radiates warmth.
i hope she knows it.
they sit close and i can't tell from this alone
if they are together
but i like to think they should be.

on the bus my friends and i would tell people's stories
the one with the blue hat, by the fire hydrant. tell that one.
in this way i think of them in summertime.
her braids fling out behind her as she runs down the street
and he follows behind, grinning.
i don't like his facial hair.
otherwise, he reminds me of me.
worn boots, leather jacket, black hat, fingerless gloves
his favorite thing is probably listening to her talk
as he does now. he just looks so happy.

everyone else wears a sort of interested expression;
i make no effort to do so. my fingers sharply tap while my lids droop.
everyone else, it seems, has somebody else.
i sit alone and observe.
it is lonely but now that is often a fact.

everyone else is wearing some kind of jacket
and i sit with mine tucked behind me.
i suppose it would be poetic, at this point
to say that i'm cold but
i'm not.