at first glance
There’s a girl on the other side of a Hell’s Kitchen courtyard who smokes cigarettes out of her window while I blow puffs of something much thicker.
And while I see her, I know she sees me, and it turns into this hide and seek game of ducking behind curtains while pretending to open and close sliding glass doors.
But it’s evident that we see each other. And while I am unable to hone in on her blinking at me, I still somehow sense the dust off of her eyelashes, and although she can’t see it, she knows I’m blinking back.
In fact, I might have even nodded.
There are children beneath us making snow angels. I’m unaware that she’s an Atheist and she doesn’t know that I am awake, regardless, both of us look down and sense an icy whisper. Mine from the wings of the last creation, hers from a past she will never let go of.
We squint like either of us might recognize the other, when we already know that there is nothing before us but a stranger. Both of us walk back to a medicine cabinet of prescriptions.
Antibiotics fix nearly anything. At least that’s what I’ve been told. She never reacted to stimulants well. Ritalin has done wonders.
It’s flurrying outside and the shape of each angel is slowly filling up with frozen sky. When it melts back into a pile of green grass, I can’t help but wonder who will notice first.