rainmusic

Every time I come back here, you tell me not to smoke, and I begrudgingly put my cigarettes away while you count up the number of piercings there are on my face, wordlessly deciding if I'm still making a mess of myself. The answer is always yes but neither of us comment on it and you let me come inside. The kids are out in the yard and I watch them through the window; there's a girl on the rusty old swing set and I watch it glide to and fro and to again. You're quiet, too. Both of us are picturing a four year old out there by himself on the last day of his childhood but neither of us say it because it's just not anything worth talking about.