There is a woman in front of me, with cool, black sunglasses, and lips stained red. Her blouse is fitted around her small frame, and her skirt flows in all of its femininity along with the early afternoon breeze. She holds her chin up with one of her hands, and with the other tucks a stand of hair behind her ear.
There is a man sitting across from her, and I see his eyes as they take in the whole of who she is. She tucks the strand of hair behind her ear once more before he takes her hand for himself. It’s a small pull across the table, him bringing her in as close as possible in the light for all to see. She laughs at something he says, but I don’t hear him, and even if I did, I can tell that she likely laughs at the things only a lover might find endearing.
She sips an espresso, and he leans back against the chair, and the noise of the street bustle settles in around us all, but they won’t notice the shift in song or sun. Everything looks like noon when two people feel as they do.
He puts his legs up now, leaning further back, and she’s now on the other side of the table, nestled within his embrace, and she’s looped one arm with his. As the minutes fall away, as the noise settles further in, they, too, are falling right before my eyes. So I try not to watch, but it’s difficult not to because they’re both quite beautiful. She is pink and dressed in red, and he is dressed in crisp blue.
I want to envy them. It’s easy envying the good things in life, especially the things that one does not have, especially when one has had and lost. But I can’t. And I’m not sure whether it’s because she’s beautiful, or because he’s blatantly obsessed with her, or because they are proof that such afternoons still exist.