I saw pity in his stealthy glance.
As though I was the revolting public and he was it’s owner; France.
He looked at me with eyes that told all.
He looked at me as though he felt my burden.
But how could he know?
How could he understand
The anguish,
The torment,
The embarrassment that wrapped around me like a band?
He can’t, plain and simple.
He was trying to ease my tumbling fall.
And I despised it all the same.
For my mistake.
Because I let myself fall,
Because I didn't see it coming.
And there he was,
Trying to steal a glance,
To see if I was fine,
And maybe perhaps to incline on my behalf.
But he was the one who declined,
And because of that I nearly flat-lined.