HUNTING SEASON
This isn’t how I imagined things to be. You aren’t what I wanted. But I didn’t know anyway.
What’s a guy with a gun? With a handful of sunflower seeds? A deer’s heart in one hand and mine in the other.
(we drove to distant towns together, and back home to safety. In the bathroom I kick and claw at my sock covered legs. Tired legs, tired wrists. You want nothing from me, you want nothing. You’ll find out in the morning it was a mistake.)
He’s nothing either.
God, I’m sick for him. For anyone.