Someone new. Maybe this time without muddy brown eyes that reflect mine. Maybe dark hair for once, maybe a fuller beard, or maybe finally some freckles. A blank slate. Maybe he shoots whiskey, or maybe he’s more into beer. That might not be as bad as I remember it being. Maybe he’s a regular, maybe he’s just there for the occasion. Maybe his friends dragged him along, saying “Dude, you’ve gotta forget about her.”
Someone new. Without history. Without expectations. Without any kind of screeching background noise. A new start. Without having to reopen the wounds. Without having to explain them. Without a care or commitment or a plan. Just a night, just a connection, just a distraction.
Someone new. Unfamiliar hands. Too-salty lips. With who knows how much in common other than a shared need to move on.