I guess that’s why

“What about bangs?”
I flip a patch of hair up
on my forehead and ask him
to squint

His eyes are somewhere between tired
and “please, just...”

I drop the hair and smooth
it out as I pout at my reflection
in the mirror

“A woman gets bored,”
I tell him

He is putting on his gloves now,
and his eyes still look like that
I am putting on my hat now,
and I am watching

“I just shaved off my beard for you,”
he says, buttoning up his coat

“What about highlights? Or red? Or...”

“You know my preference. I like it just...”

“...the way it is.”

Those eyes again.

We are outside now,
walking down the street to the cafe

“I just don’t think you should disregard everything I say,”
he says,
like that’s a thing

“When have I ever done that?”
I reach for his gloved hand with my own
and we fall into a familiar step

“I guess you don’t on the big stuff...”

“Try to think about a time I ever did.”



He puts it together in his head,
and this piece comes out anyway:
“Well, I never do that to you, though...”

“And I never said you did.”

I see him smile out of the corner of his mouth

“Well, maybe that’s why we’re such good friends.”

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