It is on my way home, I pass unexpectedly someone on the street and
so I drop my eyes and don’t look up. i find I don’t trust who is out there, the nails in the coffin….et tu Brute….but as I feel my eyes streaming down my face I look up at the man as he sees me and ….he is kind looking and looks upon me with thst all saying sympathy;my tears streaming down my face….his kind eyes with silent words that spoke of what he seemed aware this loss, as any of my gender and his all knowing expression, was like a kind father ….even though he was too young to be mine —it should have shocked me to realize I could have warranted such a response from a stranger as he looked at me ….and would otherwise have touched me; moved me; maybe? if I were not so chagrined (but I was not tonight;tonight I was just too deep in the terror)would have given me hope that there are still those left but….todsy his overt expression only ….touched me like …. a face in a crowded train …. going the other way
so I kept walking
i wasn’t numb
am not numb
no.just spent
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