The lights in your house are pleasant; warm, but not overpowering. Safe. They look like home from the harsh reality of a cold night spent peering into your living room.

It could be my home, too.

You said you would call.

I remember when we met. A sparkly headband and the ambitious flash of my pearly whites told you that I was interested. So, so interested. You practically had winner painted on your forehead. I’m a winner. Everybody loves a winner.

I wrote my number on a napkin. Tucked it in your pocket. “Don’t forget me!” You half-smiled. Nerves.

Four days and two hours later, I watch you sit down at the piano. Write me a love song.

You crack your knuckles. I crack mine in response. Lean over the keys. I lean forward in anticipation. You are just beginning to play, and oh, so am I. We have so much in common.

People have been saying things about us. Wondering who I am. Why I won’t leave you alone. They just don’t get it. What we have. But don’t worry…

I always win.