Not one friend will dare to turn up before 11 pm. And here you are, with a printed photo and a handmade frame.
That one loyal person, showing up at Laura’s at the time she asked everyone to be at. Friends like you are real keepers, people claim. Give her only 60 seconds to read your eyes, and understand the 60 minutes that made you arrive by surprise. Didn’t you have something better to do? It’s Saturday night, and you’re just 25.
I see you.
It’s fair if she has no time to touch the issues you are incapable of feeling: it is the night of her birthday party, and the rest of the guests make their way with a victorian cake.
Speakers on. Playlist set. Drinks served. By the look of your Insta stories, it does seem like a promising party. And how kind of you! To hear about the cats your friends feed and the monstera they grow.
I see you.
I see your eyes not giving an absolute damn about a cat you hate and a plant that will soon be dead. Music is at its highest. Your dirty moves are flawless. I give you my respect: not only have you turned out to be the soul of the party, but you have also set the tone for what the party next week is about to become. Is that the theatre play you want me to pay?
I see you.
I see you across the living room grabbing a third drink; having all eyes on you is kind of cool, except for mine, and that is rude. For this, forgive me, I was not invited, but you take the infinite cheering from other friends for granted. Come on, since when the number of days a monstera survives with no water is of interest to you? I only wonder about the days an inflated ego survives in someone single.
I see you.
Again, I see your last try to look away. I am not blind to your ghostly moves, yet I have profound respect for your childish choice. I haven’t heard of any good parties that didn’t come to an end. Laura gives you no chances to stay over, letting you deal alone with a Sunday hangover.
Boy, you’re not heading home alone. I’ll walk you to the tube, and we will take the same line. I can see you. I can see how your pace slows down, and no signs that you want to keep running away. Here you are, a carriage just for yourself. Can I finally see the real character of the play you wanted me to believe! Now, let us both be. At last.
And now you see me.
Now you see me, you see your sadness through the reflection of the window. Hold your tears, please. No one here will dry them up, and you are just two stations before getting off. Soon you will be home, and in the morning, I will be gone.
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