you're leaning there against your car.
he pretends that he's not looking at you,
and you pretend that your leg's not shaking.
and you're sixteen
and it's not your car, it's your mom's four-door
that you stole from the church parking lot.
you wish that your hair was longer
and that your teeth were whiter,
but all he wants to do is kiss you.
you're leaning against your doorway.
you pretend that you're not three shots
past being too drunk and too lonely.
and he's a nomad in the city
and it's not that you're depressed,
it's that you're tired and confused and drunk
and feeling fat and abandoned and broke.
so maybe you are depressed.
but all he wants is to find you again.
you're leaning against your shovel
in a town that's pretending that it's not still winter.
among people who think that you're insane.
you are insane,
and he's insane.
and it's not that they just think that you are
you are, but it's over and now you don't drink
but you hide and seek and cry
because he's been looking for you again
and all he wants is to be closer.
you're leaning away from his arm.
you pretend that you're just distracted
and he pretends that he doesn't know that
he's right there
and you're over here,
and it's like he knows that you're broken.
you are, and he can't fix it anyway
but he wants to, and so he touches your hand
and this time you let him
because that's what to do when he's been looking for you...