she wondered where you were going. where you had been. and why it had been seven years since the last time the night slid through your fingers together. time as strange as it is, seems to be both a friend and foe to moments like this. she had written about this before. she had pinned it to the wall above her bed and painted flowers around it. your rings told stories she would never hear and thankfully the noise of the crowded bar did wonders to drown out the awkward silences and long gazes that no one else bedside you would have noticed. at any rate. here or there. now or then. it is always nice to see you and your eyes.
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