Tonight I tried to care about you to distract myself. My blood shook and my body felt delicate. I looked at your picture and said out loud to you, have fun being washed up, I can’t imagine how boring it must be.
I don’t care about you, so instead I kiss my paperwhites good evening and grab a baby bear by the hand. Walk with me.
We walk.
My baby bear has giant eyes and I want to be the only one who’s ever noticed, but I’m not so I want to notice the most. I try to notice really hard. I squint.
My baby bear is beautiful, but I don’t want anyone to see. I don’t want them to take him away.
Where do you want to go, I ask, and the baby bear blinks twice, stares. Baby bears don’t know.
I take him in my arms and I worry. I worry that he will scratch me when he wants to free himself. I hope he never leaves.
My baby bear isn’t lonely. Baby bears don’t know about lonely.
Blinks, twice. Scratches his face.
