puredance3
I remember that old diner, the one right next to the library. We would go after school, telling our parents we were studying, but always sneak over to that diner. It was the diner where I had my first milkshake, first real cheeseburger, first friendship, first date, first kiss, first love. It was a part of my heart, a part of me. I loved that diner, from the cracked red booth seats, to the old Pacman machine in the back that didn't work unless you put in an extra quarter and kicked the right bottom corner. I missed the diner when I went to college, far away from my hometown. And when I returned after my first semester, I took one look at that diner and smiled, remembering all those forgotten memories. Now, I stand in front of the lot, still smiling, still remembering, but I can't open the door anymore. I can't sit down in one of the booths and tell Silvia with the orange hair that I want my usual. I can't walk back to the back of the diner and put my last two quarters into that Pacman machine. All because some crazy relative that inherited my beloved diner, decided it wasn't worth it any more. As I walk down the sidewalk toward the library, I feel a sudden urge to wave at my old friend, the diner.
I keep waiting,
still.
I can't believe I'm waiting,
still.
Expecting what?
Something good?
No, because that could never happen.
Just something to think about,
to busy my mind with.
So I won't be waiting,
I'm not expecting anything,
from you.