09 October 2013

#3 그랬던 날들

Sometimes I look at you and wonder if you still feel the way you used to in those days, when we were younger and your hair was longer and mine was shorter and you couldn't look me in the eyes. Now when I look at you and your short hair and your hands penciling sentences in a machine language, full of parentheses and ampersands, you look up and meet me in the eyes and ask, "What?" I smile and shake my head and look down at my French absurdism play that I'm presenting on and I can feel your eyes on me, watching me read my French absurdism play and underline Scipion's sad sweet words.



Ever since you came back you talk more and smile more and meet with more people and keep in contact more. Everywhere I go I hear your name and what you did with them and what you said with them and you're never alone. Before, it was only K and F and I. Before, I always came to find you sitting by yourself in the left corner table of the student center basement. Before, nobody really knew what you were like or had been called by you. Before, you called me every day and came to meet me every day and told me more stories than to anyone. Ever since you came back you hesitate before speaking to me and never seek me out.



Whenever I'm ready to accept the idea that you have come to dislike me and really want to avoid me and no longer want to reestablish what we had when our extended single-sized sheets were new and our ID cards had been newly minted, I catch you looking at me like before but with something more that I cannot identify, a deepness I cannot fathom and a manliness I have not known in you. On those nights you stay to down more drinks than usual and speak less and hand me my jacket when we leave.




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