"You're angry." He says.
"No I'm not." I reply.
"You're angry. Why?"
come on, really? All I've been doing is skipping for the last fifteen minutes!
"I know," he insists, "I know you're angry. why?"
"I don't know."
and I don't. But I do know that I know how to smile and be okay.
"Hand okay?" He asks, startling me a bit.
He reaches for my left wrist and I turn my arm over. It's clean, save for the scars.
"Good." He says, beaming at me.
He nods. "I know," he says simply, "I know."
It feels crazy, that he sees right through me. That he identified an emotion that I didn't even realize was present.
That he bothered to at all.
That he bothered.