I ask a lot about

“what is true?”

when someone does

something

“just for you!”

I am surrounded by

plutonic greetings and

hallmark cards and

how are you doing?

Questions that never get answered

quite so honestly.

I remember each moment

in which I, with a flash,

realize that someone is

being real. And honest. And true.

And these moments are always

(gorgeous! thank you! wow!)

silent.

Because, there is, for a second,

an overwhelming sense of

they saw me.

This wasn’t some copy pasted

“happy birthday, to you”

this was a moment where,

I showed myself, or,

I was shown to them, and

ready or waiting or

looking for some truth

they let me in, or

I let them in, or

we found each other.

That’s awfully hard to do

these days.

I stop.

I think about what you’ve done

and what you’ve said

and how they play out

together.

I dig for something real.

Something for me.

Something that says

“I know you

and I know you

are different.”

 

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