Back some September I met a bartender, but I can't remember her name.
6-foot tall blonde, born and bred in New Hampshire, and blue eyes with a lifetime of pain.
She was a tough one, she could take on the bouncer. They'd spar in the yard on dead nights.
Before the bar, she got by selling downers and dancing beneath the red lights.
The first night we met, I was black-out and half dead.
She let me pass out in her bed.
Ever since then when I'd come back drinking, she'd joke and she'd ask me for rent.
She'd pour me free shots while her boss wasn't watching.
We'd joke and talk shit to kill time.
Most nights whenever I hung out 'til closing we'd sit on her car and get high.
I never slept with her, it just wasn't like that. Our love hung above our skin.
We were too similar, our upbringings bad, and our lives wrought with all the same sins.
Most stories she'd tell, her dad beat her like hell and I told her how mine hurt me.
We'd laugh at the stories, we'd cry at the memories. Two guarded hearts found what they need.
And she'd say, "Getting so close to folks is a pain."
I'd say, "Hell girl, I can relate."
We'd watch the day bathe the hills of the Green Mountain state.
I can remember I found out I loved her some Saturday night that same year.
Some local band had everyone dancing and she hooked me up with free beer.
He sneered like a viper, his cold eyes were vacant when he grabbed her and told her to dance.
Something just hit me like summer time lightning. I watched as my fist took a swing.
I jabbed his right eye and pulled out a knife and I took a bar stool to his knee.
We brawled on the floor til the bouncer came forward and threw that son of a bitch to the night.
She was just standing behind the bar shaking. Her eyes down. She said, "I'm alright."
What stands out in my mind the most about that night isn't that I could've died.
There aint been a moment I felt more broken than seeing her try not to cry.
Then I stood beside her and we watched the dancers unwind on the hardwood floor; their bodies held tight as they waltzed through the night to a song I aint heard before.
And she said, "Getting so close to folks is a pain."
I said, "Goddamn, I can relate."
She held my hand as the last notes began to fade.
That was a long time and I know that she cried when I left town without a goodbye.
It's just who I am. I'm not a great man, but it felt like I was for a night.
Back some September I met a bartender, but I can't remember her name.
6-foot tall blonde, born and bred in New Hampshire.
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