Sitting in that restaurant by the shore, we listened to the waves and talked about nothing. The sun set behind the sea in an explosion of warm colours that lit your sweet face in flushes of scarlet and amber. As darkness spread across the sky, pinpricks of faraway light travelled thousands and millions of years across space, just to be there with us, appearing one by one twinkling like your eyes that reflected the shimmering candlelight. Our loving gaze was broken only when the waiter presented a tequila cocktail with two sparklers and two straws and the whole restaurant sang happy birthday to you. That night we promised to come back to that exact same table ten years on.
Now, one decade later to the day, we sit in our back yard next to the fire I built especially for tonight. It lights your sweet face in the same way as the sunset that night. The sound is a dull hum of suburban traffic and a distant police siren. Graciously, the thick winter clouds have parted, granting us a window of opportunity and we hold hands across the table. I still see the twinkle in your eyes as the candle performs a merry dance in the cold wind. Our loving gaze is broken as we look adoringly to our bow-tied, smartly dressed six-year-old waiter as, with careful steps, he brings a tequila cocktail with two straws in a plastic beaker from the kitchen. I light the sparkler and we sing a happy birthday to you, then we promise to pretend, it’s ten years next year.
Michael James is a truck driver from South Wales. He spends long hours on the road which inspires his writing. He has aspirations of writing a novel, but is also interested in short stories and poetry, with influences as diverse as Thomas Hardy and Goldie Lookin’ Chain.
The Trucking Poet @poetTrucking