Saturday, September 17, 2016
They do say
that eyes are the windows to our souls
but isn’t that what curtains are for?
Why is it that he makes his so particularly easy to see through?
Through his, I see
a little warmth, a little blue.
It’s been imprinted in my memory
since the first day he said to me,
“I want to see you this weekend. I’ll come down to Chelsea.”
Since then, everytime I think of him,
and his worn-down shoes,
and his baggy jeans,
and that cracked phone screen,
and his 90’s tunes playing over my Rhythm and Blues,
and the way he fiercely then tentatively gazes at me,
whispering thoughts that I can already see,
I think I feel a little blue, too.
It’s all because of those goddamn windows
which have imprinted themselves in my memory
and make me think to myself, resentfully,
“What the hell was I thinking, letting you fall right into the trap,
when I don’t even know
how to set you free?”