I was there.
Never left.
Aware.
Consciously waiting.
Waiting for that break in a second. The kind of break you feel when you see a window obliterate into a thousand images of its former self. The break you see in a bad romantic comedy.
That moment.
I was there.
Standing firmly.
Chest out.
Arms open.
I've desired under my skin for decades to be wanted. For someone to pick me off the top shelf. Back left. Tucked behind the bandages. Hoping to be picked to cover up someone else's mistakes.