You see,
I was the passenger,
I once taught him-a gentleman
always lets his lady in
first-
Anyway,
he must do this
still.
I wonder
when I knew
I wonder if
I was blinded
by a reflection
or the sun.
His profile
blocked
my view
of the ocean at sunset
this warm evening
after treating me
to join him at one of the
places
He drinks and dines
regularly.
His shades on, left elbow propped outside
his Jeep window,
a lit cigarette in hand
and typical
scowl on his face.
I was the one
that broke the silence,
usually,
he broke promises,
always.
My voice cracked through the granulated air,
I'm supposed to make a list
of 100 things
I like about myself.
Turning to me
abruptly
he laughed heartedly
It's hard- I said humbly.
I bet, he mumbled
awkwardly
while looking far away.
After another silence
grew thick
My moles, I even listed them-
Name some-
thing
you like about me?
He did not respond
Until
taking a deep drag and
flicking his ash,
with emphasis
I like your mole too...
In the backdrop behind him,
the horizon cast dying rays
of violent pink and orange-gold
Truimphant
over all
marking this blissful moment
of Beauty
missed
by one.
Artist: Gaston Bussière (1862-1928), Public domain, via Wikimedia Commons.
