I don’t understand the tangle.
The strands that pull and get caught;
It doesn’t even make for a story.
I watch him attempt to draw the back view of a figure.
Frown at the restriction of paper.
His mind sees nothing else, whereas mine,
Mine wells up at the touch of an old keyboard.
Brims with memory not worthy of thought.
He loves me. So does she, so do others.
Surely it must soon unravel.
The drawing is finished, he places it down.
My eyes won’t move off the misplaced line.
~ S L. James