Solipsism

I reach across the table to touch me on the arm, and pretend not to notice as my fingers come to rest. Float my gaze out at me walking by the window. I ask myself how I end up in these places, I mean I don't even like me or really all that much about me for that matter, and yet here I am having coffee with me again in the usual place. I look over and make eye contact briefly with me, but my eyes flick away quickly, pretending interest in the menu. I'm left looking at the top of my head wondering when I got so damn bald.

I've just decided to take my hand back when my hand covers it gently. I tell me that I'm really a good person, I have some great flaws, and maybe I'll find me in another place or another time. I sit back and think I'm probably trying to say something but can't. I've always been like this, using careful language to soften a let-down. Why can't I just tell me what I'm thinking? Instead of pretending to still want me sometimes and other times shying away from my touch, hiding from my phone calls, not answering the door when I drop by because I know it's me.

I'm silent now, if I say something I might leave. I want to prolong this moment for fear that I might not see me again for a long time, or maybe never you never know with me. I order another refill, looking gratefully at me for coming by to check how I'm doing. It breaks the silence and I get a refill too. I talk a bit about my new job, but I can tell I'm not really listening. I yammer on, hoping to stave off my departure. Then the moment comes and I look at me in the eyes for extra sincerity and say those words I've been waiting for.

I think I should start seeing other people.