tryst

One boy is going to delete me entirely. Or so he says. But we are people, and for as long as he lives, my plump round words, no matter how vague, will mutate like a virus in his conscious, constantly changing into better things, worse things, different things, but never leaving. Oh yes, always right where I put them.

Another is going to try to make me small, smaller, smallest -- so that caring would seem petty. And when he has convinced himself that I am tiny and trivial -- featherlight, laughable, he will settle in and smile, neglecting to realize that this will only increase the torment that will come when he fails to stop caring. Because he will fail. to stop. caring.

There is a girl who is well on her way to forgetting me. And she almost would -- if it weren't for constant reminders. If it weren't for constant remainders...

Another already has minused me, but if she could remember, she would say it was a plus.

Another never will forget, but I can't remember who she is. She thinks about me frequently -- upon certain stimuli. I can't say what they are. I wouldn't know. She never mattered to me.

We're barely communicating. You do know that, right? Just barely. My grandparents and I. Old friends. New friends. Coworkers. You and your lover. Everyone. Or perhaps I have somehow detached myself with the gallant intent to be separate. Heroes never really come in pairs...