How have we become foreign to each other?
I have seen recent pictures of you. Outwardly you haven’t changed. But you never matched well with your photographic representations. Even in my mind’s eye you were fleeting. I have that one memory of you that is like a photograph. You’re standing in your summer dress. We aren’t anywhere special. You stand up, blocking my path. You say my name. You’re smiling.
And that’s it.
There are other moments like that. But the last time I saw you, you looked into me with those dark eyes and you saw something you didn’t like. My inaction. The rest of that night is a blur. But I still carry your dark eyes with me.