Sometimes I wonder what you’re thinking when you look at me.
Are you looking at the size of my nose?
Perhaps the bags under my eyes.
The flyaways on my head?
Sometimes I wonder if you’re thinking when you look at me.
Are you only looking, or are you also feeling?
Looking with eyes that are vacant and vapid or fulfilled and fascinated?
When I look at you I’m no longer in one place.
I’m centuries ahead.
I’m days behind.
I’m with you.
Sometimes I wonder if you feel the same way about me.
Sometimes I know you do.
Other days the opposite is inevitable.
I am always thinking about the possibilities of my sometimes.