Quietly

We sat there taking our clothes out of each others’ bags, repacking separately, and I was thinking of the night we met. You smashed two glasses in the street that night, on two separate occasions, and you told the bouncer you were going to kick his ass. This time you were so quiet. I tried to talk about Spain, to get you excited. Dumb. You would look at me, sigh, and go back to sorting clothes. I wish I’d lied. I still feel that quiet.