A faded ticket hits the floor
I nearly sweep it with the rest
Then two small numbers catch my eye
And bring that Friday back again
The letters barely show their names
But I don't need the date to know
I hold the paper to the light
And see exactly where we were
Row seven
Twelve and thirteen
Friday night
You next to me
Row seven
Twelve and thirteen
Friday night
You next to me
You wanted popcorn
I chose coffee
We missed the opening of the show
You whispered something in the darkness
I laughed and told you I don't know
Row seven
Twelve and thirteen
Two old seats
One little screen
Funny how two numbers
Remember everything
Rain covered every window outside
We shared an umbrella going home
We argued which way would be shorter
Then took the longer road instead
One umbrella
Two wet shoes
Streetlights shaking in the rain
That little ticket stayed with me
Without me knowing it was there
Row seven
Twelve and thirteen
I haven't said those numbers in years
The theater isn't there anymore
But I remember every turn
The narrow stairs
The yellow hallway
And how we tried not to spill our drinks
Some memories live in photographs
Some find their way into a song
And some stay folded in a pocket
Waiting quietly all along
I smooth the ticket on the table
Almost throw it out, then change my mind
Fold it once
And put it somewhere
I know I'll find another time
Row seven
Twelve and thirteen
Friday night
You next to me
Twelve and thirteen
Just two numbers
Remembering everything
