It’s a night gleaming with sequins and
plastic jewels, of glamour and show, of
trying not to be just like
her.

It’s a night of enshrouded in preparation and
perception, glowing halos surrounding streetlights and
a buzz from anticipation or alcohol or
both.

It’s a night of false magic, of
flaws in perfection that don’t matter and
split-second decisions that
do.

Maybe it’s the fuzzy glow, the
stupidity of excitement, of
pomp and circumstance--
whatever the reason, you leaned in
for a kiss--

Only to back away from a
chance.