Text To Love

I took a sip of beer, and then my gaze traveled
to a woman with lonely eyes.
Her phone had but one bar.
She drew her eyes to feign typing a text
to a friend as her girlfriend
chatted with men twice her age.
A table, an arm’s length away,
held me from approaching her over
being criticized for staring at the angel
I couldn’t fathom existing in a sinful world.
I’ve got but to offer resurrected hope.
I’ve pulled myself together from a woman
who spilled my guts.
My headspace had room for a woman again.
I finished my drink, fixed my thick, dark hair, and leaned over.
I said she could text me if she’d like.
She asked me what made me think she’d want to text me.
She arched a brow and blushed through a sheepish grin.
I gave her a grim smile and gave her a flirtatious wink.
“What the hell?” She shrugged. “I’ve got nothing to lose.”
I handed her my phone.
She fixed her number on my contacts under Jessica.
She returned my phone.
We texted as her friend continued talking to men about
lives they didn’t have.
We texted as the club music shifted the ground beneath our feet
as we read between the lines.
Jessica ditched her friend, and we slipped away to her home.
I slept downstairs, and we texted from different rooms.
Three months later, Jessica texted me, saying we could choose forever if I’d like to.