dancing on the balcony

She dresses in the soft light of the sun about to rise. He turns in the bed and looks at her, the colors unsaturated, and smiles.

He thinks to ask her if she loves him. He thinks to ask her if she’ll be back soon. He doesn’t say anything.

He closes his eyes and remembers the previous night. The party and all the people to meet. And he remembers her. Running into her must have been a million to one chance. But she entered in the loft apartment, perfect and clichéd. She wore a bright blue dress, the kind that sucked all the light out of the room and radiated it right back out.

There was dancing on the balcony. There was holding on the balcony. There were hints of kisses on the balcony. There was her hair on his hands, pulling his eyes towards her. There was the hint of love in between them.

Later, when the party thinned out, there was the question of rides home. They were talking to Rick, the host.

“You can always stay, Mary Ann.”

“Oh, thanks Rick, but Mark offered me a ride home.” He had done no such thing.

“Are you OK to drive Mark?” Rick was looking at Mary Ann.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re welcome to stay, you know that, Mary Ann.”

“I appreciate it Rick, but I just need to sleep in my bed, you know?”

Mark says, quietly, “will you be back soon?” as Mary Ann steps outside the door.