She sits next to me on my favorite bench. We stare at the street, watching other people. In the early evening light they all look the same. But she is too close for the darkness to obscure her delicate details. Despite my negligence, she is smiling. Perhaps she smiles because of my negligence? My toes twitch. Was the bench the right idea? She leans her head against my shoulder. Help me.
Her voice is as soft as her fragrant hair. She tells me to look at the moon. Is the moon romantic or unattainable? The moon is so far away. We stare at it together. Her hand opens. I hesitate. Instead of taking it, I tell her to follow me. We leave the comfortable bench behind. I lead her through my city. Our hands are distinctly disparate, yet some how, together we run. Is it sympathy or empathy? Is she saying sorry or please?
Her voice is as soft as her fragrant hair. She tells me to look at the moon. Is the moon romantic or unattainable? The moon is so far away. We stare at it together. Her hand opens. I hesitate. Instead of taking it, I tell her to follow me. We leave the comfortable bench behind. I lead her through my city. Our hands are distinctly disparate, yet some how, together we run. Is it sympathy or empathy? Is she saying sorry or please?
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