Pinky Promise

I'm glad you asked me to come tonight, here to this noisy concert with the smell of yeast and the bright lights that erase the stars. I'm glad that we are here instead of at some quiet restaurant, because the notes and rhythms blaring from the speakers drown out the noisy beating of my heart in a way that quiet conversation over a polished table would never be able to--I'm still slightly surprised that you can't hear it anyway. I'm glad that we are here, out in the open air, surrounded by people but still able to feel the cool breeze that dries the tears of my pores and allows for me to touch you. Lord how I want to touch you. I'm glad that we are here, in the middle of this large group of strangers, because you put your hand behind you for me to take as I follow you through the crowd so that you don't lose me, and I wonder at why I even wanted to be taken to dinner in the first place--what excuse would there have been for our fingers to touch this long anywhere else? I'm glad that we are here, at the gorgeous bridge beside the river, where an escape across the water yields stars and conversation, and the solitude that is forbidden is ours but doesn't seem unnatural--this setting allows for anything to happen. My lips brush your ear as you lean in to hear me. I almost make a mistake; you're irresistible. I'm laughing, I can't help it. How is it that you make me forget? Since when are my thoughts this irrational? I'm glad that we are here, me not wanting to go home, you lingering also, the noise of the night drained from the world that is ours. This isn't safe. I shouldn't feel for you. I'm gonna get hurt.

...But a pinky promise seals my fate.