If only the restaurant had been open tonight.
We may have romanced by an open fire, red wine-stained lips posting words of encouragement, of faith, of trust, of companionship, and of assurance. Of love. One shadow for the fire to play its monologue of love along the cream walls mounting pastels from times gone by.
Shared an entrée, shared a main, shared a dessert. Mmm’d and ahh’d over rich, country flavours. Like shadow puppets portraying an epic show for a loyal audience, we could have acted all night. In the light, as it flickered. While it waned. Until it died.
Thanks to Rob at Flickr for the use of your pic.