ManicWorld Magazine

on friday night
a young man spilled his drink in my direction
and two days later i was sitting next to him
in a musty, crowded theater,
struck and enraptured by a three and a half hour long art film.
he was a cardboard cutout on my left
and his friend was a ghost on my right,
an electric shadow leaning over to whisper about
lights, angles, cinematography,
as if we’d known everything about each other for years
except the resting rate of our heartbeats
and how two a.m. looked painted on our bedroom walls.

the three of us became a single entity in the navy blue darkness,
and at midnight when we all dispersed
and i climbed into my powdered-sugar car,
i put the film’s soundtrack on full blast
and wondered if it’d ever see those two men again.
because perhaps our paths were only meant to cross
for an ephemeral forty-eight hours,
and tomorrow we’d all move on with our lives
and i’d cook breakfast alone in my apartment
with the movie poster haphazardly taped to my wall.

but right now it’s monday morning
and i know nothing
except that life can be funny sometimes.