December 11, 2010

sat across from me, with your legs crossed, while I rubbed mine on the seat’s dust grey upholstery. Pulling the buds from your ears, I asked politely what you were going to the city for. You said nothing, instead leant back and looked out the window as though now satisfied. Gently, but devoid of affection I replaced the buds in the nearest ear and the crook of your neck.
Did you ever feel, I asked now sure of your utter distraction, that you’d wasted the day before it’d even started?
I pretended you smiled, and suggested “Maybe it’s residual guilt from the previous day.”
“Really. I don’t see why not.”
I swallowed and closed my eyes to allow for your lips not moving when next I asked Then it’s okay?
“It’s really okay. It’s only a feeling.”


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