Circumstantial

You held my hand in the emergency room and the nurse asked you how we met.  You told her that we met outside a bar called Turtle Bay, that you had just bought another girl a drink, but you took me back to your apartment.  That's not how I tell the story.  I say we met on the street.   To me there is nowhere else, and nothing else that is important until the story starts with you on a Tuesday night on Second Avenue.  
Maybe that's the trouble with you and I.  You think about me in juxtaposition to other possibilities.  I'm just glad you were possible.
In the emergency room I thought about the circumstances of things -- how they matter and how they don't.  And there were moments when I forgot where we were and the circumstances that had brought us there.  I was just looking at you and you were just looking back at me.  And the only thing that mattered to me was that we had met.