Spring is a placeholder.
It reminds me of a time;
I held my breath, a little too long,
but I would not lose face, not in front of my brother.
Someone had to show him, someone had to put him in his place.
But now he lives in Charlotte and his daughter doesn’t call anymore.
He was so in love, once.
I had tried so hard to imagine what that must have been like.
I can’t even picture her now. What was her name?
It doesn’t matter.

She doesn’t matter–he tells himself.

Spring is a placeholder.
It reminds me of my brother;
tight little curls around his ears that made his face turn red
when someone pointed them out.
I held my breath–a little too long–because it was just a stupid game, probably.
But I would not lose face, not in front of him.
Someone had to show him, someone had to put him in his place.
But now he lives in Charlotte and his daughter doesn’t call anymore.
I didn’t think that heroes could live in such a boring place.
He was so in love, once.
I can remember trying to imagine what that must have been like.
I can see myself being him, trying to be someone else.
But I can’t even picture her now. What was her name?
It doesn’t matter.