My Cardboard Balcony

The Tides Were High by Belinda Roddie The tides were high when I met you tonight, all primped and ready for a real good time, your red hair glowing in the fierce moonlight. I bought you a drink, maybe two, strong lime the flavor in our tall glasses, and you gulped it all down, reminiscing about the "good old days." You wore red. I wore blue. The loud music made me think I should shout my feelings for you, but you never heard my love. You never drank it in as much as the booze in your bottle. Not one word seemed to reach you, and my head was in such a spin that I remedied nothing. I carried you home while the tides were still high.

I wish that I could have taken her laughter and put it in a bottle, to keep as a souvenir. That way, if I ever got too lonely back home in the deep west, I could pull the cork up slightly to let a light wisp of giggles soothe me and make me feel happy. As it was, however, I was left with the fleeting memory of it, not anything I could cap to preserve, and I feared that I would ultimately lose it entirely.