At my feet
Pine cones crackled on the smouldering fire, as I curled up like a cat with you at my feet. You were looking sheepishly, desperately, desirably at the beautiful young woman just out of reach on the opposite high-back, while I savoured every song, every bite, every sip of your home-brewed beer. I had wanted to fall in love, and in that room in your house I wanted you to fall in love with me. Did you not recognise it? I cried, deeply saturated my heart in tears, for all the hope I lost in that one moment when you told me you met someone else, someone better than me. You are still searching. You never reverted back to me.