"...why can't we give ourselves one more chance..."

I think I am going to start writing chick lit. Watch our Shop-a-holic series!

She was drunk and singing along to songs about the last chance for love and just than, at the very moment, she really fucking believed it.
She didn't remember coming up with the idea and so she couldn't possibly think it over, but suddenly she saw him, Colm. He appeared out of nowhere. It was unlikely that is was nowhere, probably the bathroom, explaining why he was drying his hands on his pants. But unknowingly he was venturing too close the small area that had just been designated by her to be the dance floor.
She was there. In his arms before he could even realize where he was. She was young so this sort of whim could be understood and tolerated, and when she would get older she would wish it could be that easy again. But there are some things you can only do once and than they lose their spontanity and fall victim to cliche. Even the simple things like jumping into some one's arms.



He was surprised but he didn't drop her. Her was breath was steeped in gin and so potent he almost swooned. Stress and little sleep had him rapidly deteriorating mental and physically. A couple of pints and he was feeling his head swimming, but still he didn't drop her.

He laughed because that was all he could think to do, besides kiss her or drop her.
He laughed and her eyes slowly opened. She stared at him and than slithered out of his arms and disappeared into the thick of the small crowd.


She was not physically far away he could catch her. She could return and catch him. But they did not meet, not even half way. Instead they would circle each other, and never admit each other's presense. She would search her mind for words that would amuse him and never say them and she would hope that he was doing the same but admitted that he most likely wasn't. And he would continue on always the same. Always looking so untouched.