Demons

We talked for an hour.
Your cell phone started to cut out, so I had to call you back.
You told me you were going to the concert with her.
We talked about the venue.
We talked about the band.
You told me that you don't expect me to wait for you, but you will figure this out.
I told you I wouldn't wait, but the next day I wanted to add to that: but I'm here right now, so let's enjoy the time we have to explore now.
You told me that you pour out your soul and I don't tell you anything.
So I told you about my demons.
That this particular demon belongs to you.
I told you that this thing has been sparked in me.
All dressed up and no place to go.
You asked me, sounding astonished, if I'd never had fantasies before.
I tried to explain that it wasn't like that, but I did a poor job. The next day, I wanted to explain it more.
You said yes, you'd like to come over Saturday.
That whatever happens on Saturday it will be nice.
You said something about possibly not remembering the call, and I told you that I would use that to my advantage, and tell you that you promised me cuffs and a collar.
You laughed.
The next day was busy, and I had to call you. You had to call me back.
All of this erased proof that we'd spoken so intimately the night before.

You didn't remember any of it.
I'm the only witness to one of the best conversations I've ever had.

As I drove to work that following morning, I made mental plans to send you flowers.