We sit right next to each other, the same position as when we first met,
Me on the right, them on the left just like in that science class in 7th grade.
Or in your room, the bed with the blue blanket, and the small desk
your dog that almost grew to like me.
Or my old room, the desk against the windows,
the afternoon sun shining onto my wall from the crack in my curtain.
The two of us together again, in the starbucks, in the tech theater class we did nothing in.
Despite your tip I still haven’t started exercising.
I instead stare at the wall, and think of you in a dark room you’ve never seen.
My desk, and bed are now in a different room, different layout, different feel.
I sometimes look over at you, and for a second I’ll be excited to see you
a remnant of my optimism wanting to cling to you.
I’ve come to realize that we weren’t attracted to each other
a realization I’m sure came to you first. You were always better at understanding social cues.
Funny how we acted like we had anything figured out in 8th grade.
A mix of middle school hubris, and the curiosity of what intimacy is like.
our bodies becoming a screen to imagine another, taking roles we barely understood.
The only thing we gained was bragging rights, and the things we lost I’m only now learning.
Sitting next to each other again, a familiar stranger.