Childish

Neglectful to Decision,
a person; Decision.
Is a male? Late forties? She doesn't know, she ignores.

Instead she paces and retraces her steps.

She expects, to hold your, their attention and to feel it,
grip it,
like a cold metal surface, the monkey bars.
Smooth and firm. Hers.

She expects, everything to be same, you must be able to repeat an experience.
To revisit with the same pleasant pulse as when you left and sink back into the same teeth marks, YOU left.
She thinks…she knows that would be comforting.
If You make a mark, an impression. How can it just brush off or blow away?
She isn’t a flower, an ephemeral figment that you soon come to shrug at. No. She isn’t.

But,
the teeth marks, the footprints are different, the coffee is bitter and everyone is tired.

Her hands are sweating, she can’t grab.
There is nothing to say this time.

Genuinely disappointed, she will laminate her tears. Self indulgent or not. She’ll rip them from the sockets and save them forever. That way at least something stays the same.

What she wants is not the same and if it was, maybe she’d hate it.