Standing In Motion

Two and a half years, Spring.

How, I thought, can one person look so splendidly miserable?

Blue eyes, small frame

he always walks with his hands in his pants pocket.

Always with his head lowered, always thinking.

Hair of a porcupine; he bounces as he walks, why?

A lone wolf who’s dressed as the Grim Reaper.

Oh, to live inside his mind.

I wonder what goes on there?

We talk, his stories always sounds of a vivid dream

where there is nothing but white sand, palm trees, and a slight breeze

and the bluest most pristine water the mind’s eye can see.

His words are golden; he makes me smile without effort.

Laughing; his awkward  sense of humor only the collegiate can understand.

Happy I am, sad he is.

Sharing the same space makes us equals.

We’re equally happy delving into the core of one another.

Summer, I missed you. We were worlds away.

Those long six-weeks, I lied in the center of my Queen-sized bed staring up at the ceiling.

Rolling over on my right side, then the left, finally, curled into a ball.

Am I crazy to think of you all the time?

Winter was bitter because I was hot and you were not.

How can two people be so off?

Everyday except Saturday and Sundays I see you.

We see each other and all we do is smile in passing.

What’s that about anyway?

Fall brought death, pungent and spicy.

The more I run to you, the further apart we grow.

Growth equals progress but there is none to show.

When I wasn’t looking, you embraced me.

Why?

Are we going to do this again?

Nothing?

This dancing standing in motion?

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