Unparalleled

You are seventeen, 

unpracticed on the notions of romantic love, 

afraid to speak the words that have been 

unalphabetized through the corners of your brain.

The same lips that contract 

like you’re waiting to speak back to your Father 

but are unwilling to do so.

Except the person right in front of you, 

the same person who emits a halo around their hair — all thanks to the sun,

is in the same position as your guardian.

But this time, with eyes that resemble a middle aged woman referring to you as “sweetheart” filling that void you never thought was present.

When you cross the street, their hands are leveled with yours,

rather than placed on your wrist.

And when you’re at the dining table, their body is next to your own,

almost as if they’re your equivalent.

Except the hands they lay on your face are one introduced with fondness rather than malice.

Like you’re waiting for a blow from the face that resembles yours.

This current face in front of you doesn’t. 

You are twenty-two.

That former face from the threads of your youth remain but only in the slightest scraps.

---

Cover Photo by Lisa Fotios.