islands

he writes so beautiful, beyond what his glasses allow.
it was sunday yesterday, wasn't it? i only remember in hindsight how i felt.  but there i was, with you both on an island of derelict boxes that were once lives. i peered over each of your shoulders and couldn't quite get your shared excitement, couldn't quite understand your language, yet the words and scenery were so familiar, witnessed the glances and gentle touches you shared as we walked through the rubble. i took photographs of your eyes, how deep they sought passed mine to a gentler force of articulation in blurry focus. my mind reeled into acceptance. i am smaller and smaller, day to day as i recede into the grass and the bark, the black-top highway that leads off the island. i am unrecognizable. this is not sad.