On the edge of his rearranged
room he stands, glancing out
onto rain soaked streets. Six
months have passed and if
he said it wasn’t easier he
would be lying. Still,
some days it stays difficult
through a late morning and
on in till the late day, then
eventually, the night. Some
days memories stick longer
than they should; as in, they
outstay their welcome. Not
everyday, mind you, but some days.
***
Her feet do what all feet do
on wet ground: they patter
as you run, and splash
unwanted water up past
your ankle. No worries.
That’s what the boots are for.
Like most days she is in
a hurry. Conversation is
for the evening, and even
then she’s choosy.
Maybe,
a certain nose, an inflection
reminds her… “Hahah. No, no
no.” Another time, a different
boy.
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