She's at it again. Time and space and she is perfect.
I convinced her to come, I know, but it scares the shit out of me what the universe is trying to do.
I don't look at her as we walk down the street. For 3 seconds I turn my head, and
snow is falling, melting quick on her cheeks. Shouldn't have looked.
Want to shout, "I LOVE SOMEBODY!"
Whatever, you know, that means. I start to think about the men who have felt
before I am feeling now. Centuries, or years, for her, ago. But she acts like
she's never been given that old time lovin, just put on a pedestal. I try to take
her down to get her to see that I am different. I am, not, though.
She is into living. That's what gets me.
She likes the way the world looks (most days). She notices how things look, and she
smiles at simple communities of different colors and textures. Patterns, whatever. Her eyes will fix on things. They go together in her mind. Pairing, I guess you could call it. I don't know how she does it, but it makes her happy. It makes her feel like she belongs.
Sometimes we'll be somewhere and she'll smile right at me, wide eyed, entranced. She smiles right past the things I'm trying to tell her and I know she likes the way I look in that environment. I wonder if it makes her feel she belongs. With me.