We went to a restaurant for our first anniversary.
My black dress and red lips,
Your smart jacket and your crisp white shirt.
We ate the wonderful food.
We drank the wonderful drink.
By this point my lipstick was smudged and tainted with wonderful red wine.
My tongue, too, was tainted. And bitter.
When you said my red lipstick was to your distaste, this provoked me in my drunken state.
We argued about many things. About our differences in lifestyles, our clashes in opinions. And I drank more. And when I drank more I began to cry.
That’s when I made my exit to reapply the red lipstick that you dislike. Just to spite you.
“Get the bill, please.” I say as my heels click on the wooden floor.
When I return to our table you have your head in your hands. We don’t look at each other.
I bite my lip hard to stop the neverending tears from flowing, keeping my head down in fear the rest of the room will see.
But when I look up, with tears blurring my vision.
I see your stupid smile.
All of a sudden I’m laughing and the tears pour down my cheeks.
“At least we argue enough to care.” You say. You smile at me.
“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” I laugh.
You take me home. You take me to bed.
By the end of the night the only thing that comes between us is our clothes.
You soon see to that.