With Our Backs to the Newspaper Stands

March 17, 2008
It’s days like today
when I worry the most about you;
when you try to hide
your shattered-glass hazel eyes,
and your fake smile
brings back those old ghosts.

Certain memories throb like
those heavy heartbeats,
the ones that filled my head
while I sat beside you, while you broke,
that dismal August night
on that city street sidewalk.
Steam rose from the warm pavement,
the world was muted and surreal.
My face was lifted towards the starless sky;
all I needed was a sign.
And you, you held your head in your hands,
staring into a puddle;
you just kept waiting
for your reflection to reappear.

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