Forlorn from Lust

She was twenty-nine years old, from out of town.  East Coast.  Aggressive, distracted by her own mind.  Giving "life tips" to my friend, after last call, her euphemistically telling him to make his move;  he was paralyzed by something.  The East Coast is fast, unlike the mountains;  with more people and less risk, it's easier to take chances with someone.  How different it was back home, she had said.  Brazenly consumed desire, so commonplace.  Alcohol and cloudy lights;  bar din, people, commotion.  He didn't make his move, he had excuses.  He dashed his chances because of what he thought was possible, when she was telling him what was possible.  I watched them say goodbye and have seen it before; forlorn from lust, still pining for one another in the darkness, not knowing how.