I had a japanese meal with you
in an American city. You looked
at me squarely and said "I'm not
a hard ass. I have feelings."
The moments were lingering between
what you were saying, and what I knew
you had to say. Your face seemed perfect.
It is.
I don't know what it feels like anymore,
to be held, to be told I am beautiful. Its
not sad. It just is. I am clouding my days
with meals to make those days meaningful---
really I just think of you. But I am almost
absolutely positive that you never think of me.
