A Stranger's Laugh

I find myself in a sea of faces I'm scared to know.

They are all dancing in vintage clothes with grins so handsome.

The glitter in the girls' hair rivals the lights, and I'm just a plus one to an invitation.

They drink. They laugh. They sing.

I make my way around the room, taking in names

I don't care to remember

And shaking hands, I don't want to hold.

Somehow at some point,

The clock struck 12,

And the dancers died out like a swan's life cycle.

The music faded like the end of a movie scene,

And now it's me and this chagrined dream

Of empty bottles scattered on the floor covered in confetti, smokes, and polaroids.

Upper East Siders sure know how to leave their mark.

The night was a flash, and I'm glad it's gone.

Until I heard it.

I heard you.

That same old laugh from when we hid behind the bleachers,

Away from my friends and your band of misfits.

I can picture you without so much as a look—

Your head cocked back, and your soft pink lips parted enough to let out your signature boisterous chords.

It was the kind of laugh that always made me roll my eyes while somehow admiring you from the sidelines.

I almost flock in your direction,

To ask, "How have you been?"

Until his arms slithered around my waist.

His voice, so smooth like Langston Blues, echoed, "The taxi's waiting for two."

I look back at you,

Lock eyes with you.

Who knew two high school birds would find their own flock,

And nearly fly into each other again,

Only for the old flame to be stolen away.

I'll be 22 next summer,

And you'll be 23 this Christmas season.

I walk to the door with my new lover,

As you whisper, "I hate to see you leavin'."