Goodbyes

How everyone seems unlovable at first, until you have evidence. Under his rain coat he smells like lemons, hates the smell himself when he comes home at the end of the day. Lemons, like cheap cake, like solvent and window cleaner. His hands won’t come clean. Dreams of lemons, his fingers buried under pillows. He’s playing a character based on him when he was twenty one. He’s doing it poorly. Sometimes the steps come first, the emotion follows, gestures like cups.

We are in the audience again, watching the goodbyes. Someone points to the delusional bottle of sky. Can’t see my hand on your arm in the dark. Has anyone ever loved this spot? Or this? Not this one. Later, the perfect coat of attention and brush of breath. All these minor years and major hours, when fractions are your friend, no pencil to mark the lonely falling outside the window or what you will miss later in your quiet yearns and ponders, stories in the hallway waiting for you to remember so they can happen. How everyone seems lovable at first, until you have evidence.