Recovery

You're Perfect

I see the way you run your fingers through your hair when you're nervous. Or when you rub your thumb against your fingerprints of your first two fingers in a circular motion. I know it calms you down. It's a security blanket. It calms me too. I see the way you run your eyes from side to side, reading your favorite novel. You're careful not to skim over any words. You don't want to miss any detail. You're in your own world, grinning at the most random moments. The way your eyelashes fullter and your lips part ways let me know exactly how you feel about the book. I'll check it out after you. I see the way you exhale with a sigh of relief when you've completed your schoolwork before the last bell. Bringing work home would mean never-found-again papers. Or maybe you'd get distracted and use your algebra as a coaster, leaving rings of coffee on y=mx+b. I see the way you look at the wrists of everyone who passes you in the halls. You're searching for someone who relates. Someone who understands. I see the sympathy in your eyes when you finally notice me. You notice me like I noticed you. You see the emptiness in my eyes. Early in the morning, you see me remove a small flask from my bag and watch as I take a drink before walking to the cafeteria. I know you wonder what made me replace my cereal with alchohol. When I roll up my long, flannel sleeves, you see the whte lines etched into my forearm, some less shallow than others. You take in every detail, making the smaller things the most important. You see someone who relates. Someone who understands. You see me like I see you; perfect.