People We Meet At Parties

A midnight story based off of a song I wrote back in 2022.

We both had high hopes to go to New York City. Before, when I had walked over, you backed away an inch like I was a bright light in your peripheral. We were huddled by the beverages with the band - you said you grew up with a Steinway; a means to assert yourself, but you’re already wearing Moss Bros or something, and these guys only make around £100 a gig. They’ve got their hands full with you alone. You, yours too; a drink in each. One an old fashioned (maybe?), the other looks sweet and feminine. Is she in the bathroom? Kissing the host goodbye?

I’m so bored of momentary romance. Pretty people are good enough for brief conversation, and then you’re struck with the reminder that they were only gifted with such remarkable looks because there’s nothing human underneath. Such an impressive 21st century cyborg. But there’s something so alluring about the fact I’ll never see them again, because I could foresee our entire future while you’re commending the cheese:

I’d buy books and never read them,

you’d have thoughts and never share them,

dramatic slide down a wall, slamming of doors that reverberate down the hallway.

Say you miss when it was child’s play.

And though I wonder why it never works out, I end up answering that question for myself.

Like when I meet someone with any kind of power, and hand over my heart after an hour.

We both had plans to go to New York City, but it got late, and then you had to leave the party. I said goodbye in hesitation,

but it was just a conversation.