The air around him is sweet
Not that there’s anything special about him, I just met him at the cotton candy stand. As I stuck my tongue out to taste the silky strands barely visible in the air, he caught my eye.
Awkward nostalgic hug
As I burrow my head in his tummy because I’m too short to reach his shoulder. I remember how much I loved, still love, how small he makes me feel: like a ballerina.
I did not love him but I certainly loved the idea of him: The electricity not just in his large and intense eyes but in my tummy and his guitar. Both of which he played with passion worthy of his calling. He was… is amazingly talented, quirky but charismatic, and broken. I was going to fix him. All I did was bare his scars and wound myself.
I exposed his vulnerabilities to a world that was not rooting for him. They were rooting for me: regardless if I changed direction.
I still recall how he would stare. Seeing me, except not really. Seeing more than I ever could- As if I didn’t truly know what I was, but he did.
And so he stares then introduces me to the girl standing by him at the cotton candy stand- awaiting her saccharine delights as I await mine. I do not recall her name, but I recall how she burros her head into his tummy. She is too short to reach his shoulder.