Thursday, October 6, 2011

Kenny

I saw him once. Well, to say it was once
would neither be accurate nor true.

I saw him many times, across from me
but only for that season. I wondered
about him; who he was and where he was
from. I made up stories in my head to
pass the time, lonely time, when I was sad.

I wonder: did I sit there on purpose?
Did I know "he" was what I needed then?
When I was sad and he was there and I
could dream? Create a fiction in my mind?
Perfection imagined and therefore safe.

He helped me. I know, because I made it.
I passed. And I did not cry. Not even once.

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