Sitting there, glass in my hand. I look down the bar and see the smile, a smile I've seen a hundred times but everytime I see it, it lights up my mind another time.
She sits in the same spot every week. Had I talked to her? Yes, we're actually good friends her and I. We've gone out a few times, but I've been over looked to be with her. She calls up when she has a problem, and leaves when my words dry her tears, which I never mind doing.
Im waiting for her to come around and see that she can call it friendship all she wants, but in the end I want nothing more than to hold her in my arms.
Bartender comes up, asks what I want to drink. "Scotch" - "Ah, i figured thats what you'd take."