In the departure all that remained were the remnants of the drinks they had shared, slightly broken circles of watermarks left on the table, his glass still slightly filled and slowly melting like the rest of the evening.
He listened to the high piano keys of ice against itself in his glass and wondered if he should pour himself some more. The lights were just coming on in the city.
It was a vacancy...a void. For every amount of times she had gone away he remembered them like they were natural...they were fluid, expected. Just another sweep of hour hands and a moment when she had to go. But in the meantime he had sweetened the minutes together.
But this time was different. It was rarer. Rather, the plucked away feeling was stronger...interrupted. She had slipped from his hands like in a torrent...and her absence was a toxin. It was cloying.
It was probably because the room had matched the perfect hue of her evening eyes and now there was just a broad darkening.
A starless event. A twilight with a blankness.
He was struck by the rarity of that impact...the ache that had just been caught as a craving. He supposed it shouldn't have surprised him but it did.
The moments had been brief, just a bit longer than a dance, but the slight angles and familiar scents were reminders...they were markers. Not muscle memory but rather perhaps antiques...that were finally dusted off, wires still intact and suddenly plugged into an outlet and sprung into white bright light.
It was a rarity. It was exceedingly different.
But there was enough of the familiar for him to remember some times when she returned...and he clung to that with white bright hopes in an evening dimming and dying altogether.
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