when the disappointments of an evening won't disappear, i start to imagine a slightly different scene, one where my more appealing self comes up to you for once. you are still handsome and tall and barely aged at all. I am a little taller, more attractive, worldly, yet innocent enough for you to notice, and perfect at conversation. I'd like to think we talked to flirt, and intrigued eachother enough to pretend we thought the same way, and had some things in common. When you begin to play,  in the moment of  holding your guitar and opening your mouth, you thought of me, and hoped that I would understand what you were singing between verses. In the end, my leaving would not be so abrupt or silly. I stay for a while, and you smile at me sometimes. I wouldn't play with the rings on my fingers, fold hair over then behind my ear, or look down as you play those songs that make me feel enough that i could love you.