Standing on the sidewalk at the corner of Sixth and Main,
I see her, for the first time in ages.
But it feels like it was only a few hours ago
Maybe even just moments
Since we last spoke, since I last saw her
What was it, six years?
She’s bundled up in her coat and gloves, a black stocking cap
Her yellow sunglasses to block out the glare from the snow.
From the beginning, I admired her eyes.
Pain only ever showed in those eyes, grey like a stormy sea, when it was almost too much for her to bare;
Nearly enough to cause her to double over with emptiness.
The other emotions only came through when she wanted to like she had some invisible
Filter she used when she decided that secrecy was her best option, as
It often was.
As I walked closer to her, she gave me a smile, causing the corners of her mouth to bleed from being dry and chapped from the winter weather.
We make small talk in a coffee bar down the street, and she asks me
About my family, my parents, if I have any children.
She already knows that answer.
I ask her about her life, and she tells me that she was working on a team in
Peru, helping children who can’t afford to go to school learn how to read.
She doesn’t bring up any children, or any family.
I knew she wouldn’t.
All the time we are inside, she doesn’t take off the glasses.
She knows what I want, that I long
To see her eyes again.
She will not give me that satisfaction
As we exit, I tell her that I’ve missed her.
She laughs a laugh that mirrors the wind whipping her hair around her face,
Cold and merciless.
“I used to miss you.” She answers “and then you left.”
