I saw you on my way home
My nose was all stitched up, and, leaving the hospital alone (mom and Naomi didn’t bother coming along, and John was welcomed for supper), I saw you sitting on a bench in the nearby park. Your arms were crossed, and your face was empty, licorice nowhere to be seen. When you looked up, your eyes scanned the dull suburban landscape, until meeting mine. It was a brief second, before you looked back down at the ground, and, reaching into your bag, you grabbed a pack of gum.
I wanted to talk to you.
But I couldn’t.
