She told me, "call me sometime,"

as she slid the menu across the table

-her number scribbled at the bottom

of the attached notepad paper.

My fingers traced the edges of the

paper, prickly and smooth, opposites

like us.

Skimming the menu, I slid the torn paper

back to her-no exchange of words-

and watched as she scoffed and ripped it into

shreds, threw it at my wrinkled shirt,

and shuffled into the back of the

cafe. I heard a chuckle from

the end of the battered place.

A chuckle from you, in your

dark blue sweater, light blue

eyes, ice blue lips, and a heart

of pale blue-I knew you

were not like them because

as soon as the smile faltered on

your lips, it quickly disappeared.

Because you were just blue.