An evening past

Over a glass of wine, standing dripping wet next to a bath of sadness, I found that I had taken the time I would have liked to finish the tartine at this sidewalk cafe.  And that I was thinking about velvet warmths of past romances.

Also, that perhaps books are good for loneliness.  They allow you to be guided through an unknown world, but not in front of everyone.

I stare, in my coat, and the wine is done.