i walk alone

He smiles at me, the strong scent of his liqueur hovering between us. I smile at the bar. At the bottles that line the shelves on the wall. I order another gin and tonic.

I talk a mile a minute about myself, trying to fill a suggestive silence that bears room for intimacy.

Some people find it hard to face themselves when they're finally alone. Others, like me, don't know what to do when there's someone else.

"You have a strong sense of self," he tells me.

"Yeah...most of the time." I grin.

He tells me I have beautiful hair and I try and push away the compliment. "My hairdresser says it's ruined."

Why did I put effort into getting ready? Why did I convince myself I might be interested? There's no room for anyone else in my life. In my mind; my heart; my bed.

And yet I want to take the bartender home with me. He has a soft Irish accent and honest eyes. I order another drink just to share a moment with him.

I want him because he's behind the counter and I'm sitting with another man. I want him because at this very moment he is out of limits.

I walk home alone, by choice, in the brisk beauty of the evening. I walk tall. Comfortable as ever in my heels.

I walk at my own driven pace, and while I listen to the sound of my shoes hitting the pavement, I wonder if they'll ever be room for someone else.