don't think about the farmer's market and sitting at cheap plastic tables that felt like they could blow away as easily as a hat in chicago
don’t think about the styrofoam bowls filled with rice and teriyaki chicken that you couldn’t eat and the napkins that always got scattered everywhere
don’t think about the singer under the tent who’d strum and hum and provide the perfect ambience as the sun was getting low in the winter
don’t think about how the burgundy sweatshirt was almost too big for his frame and how it would swamp yours completely, sleeves easily surpassing your fingertips
don’t think about how the buzz of shoppers and shopkeeps merely mirrored the buzz of excitement that radiated between you both
don’t think about the way he’d laugh with a napkin over his mouth and pull his shoulders up, clearly nervous
don’t think about the way his eyes lit up at the mention of certain subjects and how he’d rattle on about them
don’t think about how miserable he seemed at the thought of school but how quietly joyful he became when you said you’d be glad to pick him up after if he’d like
don’t think about how you saw the difference you were making and were so glad to have him so close

but really, just don’t think about how
the sun made you squint and you sat across the cheap plastic table from him in his hated burgundy school sweater with his chicken and rice
and the way you had to tilt your head slightly to hear his soft voice over the rolling energy of the crowd
and that you were allowed to touch again and how you gladly took advantage of that to calm your own nerves
and how you couldn’t even imagine half the things that have happened since that first day you got lunch.