Cliché

I don't remember how long we stayed there.
Nibbling on the French fries.
Listening to 'How's Going To Be' playing in the background.
In an almost empty restaurant, while waiters relaxed like they do late in the afternoons.

No cliché exists between us, ever.
No hand-holding, no stupid falling-in-love.

Thank God.

Remember how I spotted a bracelet on your wrist and you told me it was from your Brazilian girl-friend?

For a second I imagined her and she was pretty in my imagination.
For a second, I felt a pang of dislike for her.

Remember how you told me the date of your departure when we finished eating?
There were tears in your eyes.

For a second, I wanted to run away.
Because I am not good at comforting.
Because I had nothing to offer.
Because it was scary not to feel like crying.

A lifetime of hating clichés.
And one day you really wish at least one comes true for you.