The sun is behind him,
And I squint and squish my eyes to slits to look at him
With back lit shadows blocked across his face.
He stands there, arms at his side, left leg weight bearing
And rambles on about something I stopped listening to
After he said ‘Obviously’ for the second time.
There’s something there. How about that?
I raise my hand to shield it from the sun,
And am able to see his face clearer now, just in time
To see his mouth shift into a triangle shaped smile.
I cock my head to the side
And hope the change will correct my view askewed
With eyebrows furrowed.
Hmph… How about that?
“What are you looking at?” he asks
And my stomach has plummeted to my knees
That suddenly haven’t the strength to hold me upright.
I take a single step back to shift my balance
And to get some distance
From what seems to be right in front of me.
Fuck… how about that?
In youth we learn our lessons
And apply them to our future,
Told that hurt makes us stronger.
So, we learn to mistrust what we are given
And stop giving since we’re not trusted
But still question everyone’s motives.
We change our game from Truth or Dare
To ‘Who Said I Fucking Care’
And then question why we feel empty.
Dodge and weave, duck and cover
And never be the first to make the move
Because we just don’t have the time for that.
He takes two steps towards me
And touches my arm
In a way that’s more habit than instinct.
‘Are you alright?’ he asks
And I nod my head with enthusiasm
‘Just the sun in my eye’ I say
Game face on. How about that.