Blind Date

Blind Date

February 15, 2017.

 

I walk in –

cautiously.

Try to get the lay of the land

without anyone noticing

how uncomfortable

I am.

 

I scan the corners of the room,

find an empty seat

and wait…

Fingers braiding

and unbraiding the frayed fringe

on the scarf someone left behind

Years ago –

Back before I needed

this date.

Back before

I knew

I was missing

part of myself

.

.

.

.

.

Finally…

 

Footsteps

A cleared throat

A voice

startling my fingers

from weaving

worst case scenarios.

.

.

Heather….May?

.

.

.

I follow –

Cautiously.

Footing unsure.

Torn between

hustling to keep up

and lingering where you

can’t find me.

 

You reach out to touch my elbow,

Then retract,

Remembering

we only just met.

 

Maybe February 15, 2017

is the wrong date to celebrate

after all.

Because for now

I can still see.