To be seen

Possibly you think of me before you sleep, probably you don’t, and that’s ok. At least one of us does. When have I become so diplomatic? So soft spoken and easy to sway just as your wind blows. I know exactly when, how and why.

The beat remains and the pounding gets deeper and sharpens my senses. Things are going to change, we are probably going to change, and only we will know. So let’s live today and continue exactly like this. Today, nothing needs to change.

I sit on the steps of the front door of our come what may life and I stare at you twirling and becoming beside me. You extend your arms to me and I cannot but come to you. We wrestle to the ground and laugh as we crash. My bruised finger amuses you as you pretend that your eyes cannot see the blue.

I start to explain where the pain is and how you can’t relate to it because it’s not yours, as you stare into my serious eyes with student like attention. Am I really lecturing you about pain? So typical. Yet you still go ahead and bring me a bag of ice you put it on my hand and ask me to continue with a smirk.

This matters. The bag of ice, the smirk, the listening… it all counts to the fact that you see me. That is all that matters, and don’t we all want to be seen?

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