Iseehim, and I can breathe all the way out.
It’s the stillness in him,
a hush that doesn't corner me.
The music dips.
Only a crackle now as the next track lines itself up.
My eyes drop to his hands.
Two long, slender fingers dance over the albums,
leafing through them,
his middle finger skimming the spines as he moves to the next box.
He’s in his own world,
somewhere else,
flipping through vinyl,
like nothing else exists.
Like I don’t exist.
Though I’m sitting right here,
watching him like I found my favorite song
and know it’s about to end.
Then he turns, as if he felt me,
eyes landing on me fast,
full force,
a direct hit.
He stumbles back.
“Shit—”
His hand flies to his chest,
keeping his heart from leaving him.
Then everything stops.
Only his eyes and mine,
nowhere else to look.
Until—
finally, he exhales,
