Loneliness And Bachelorhood Go Hand In Hand

A dimly lit bistro, with smoky lights, and thick, smoke-filled air. Patrons, regulars, and first-timers, all mix together in an indistinguishable blur as I sit in the corner: alone at a table for two, but I'm not being served. I'm not one to be in a relationship, but why am I waiting? Why aren't I ordering a drink, or two, or eight, to drown myself in a liquor-tainted haze?

I stare silently outside the foggy glass, at the street outside, the crowd passing by the window-side booth without a second glance at the lonely figure slumped over a long-forgotten menu, eyes not registering any of the words printed on the worn paper.

The buzzing of moths head-butting the flickering light bulb overhead rhymes with the clink of glasses and tinkle of utensils on plates around me. I can hear a mother and a daughter conversing in whispered tones, verging on an argument. For a second, I wish to be there instead of the middle-aged woman trying to control the anger bubbling up inside, directed at the defiant teenager. At least I would have someone to talk to, even if the words would be hostile.

Loneliness and bachelorhood go hand in hand, I suppose.  

Wedding rings are a thing of the past - that sepia-tinted photograph of naivety. No one would want an old man of thirty. I am nothing special to those enchanting vixens of twenty-five. 

And that's when I see a pair of soulful eyes, a scalp of hastily brushed brown hair, and an awkward tug at a perfectly acceptable knee-length skirt. A shy smile that draws my attention to velvet lips.

Beauty in motion, but unbeknownst to the cloudy-headed people in the room. 

I step forward, hoping for the figure to be real and not a mind-addled spectre. 

I might give love another chance after all.