no one told me what it was to be lovely.
i’ve seen a man lose himself in anger, our small, round faces hidden, eyes quickly shut, bent away in anticipation of sharp words or whatever object was convenient for him to throw.
it always shocked me
that we could end up just like him.
and here we have. no one taught me what was to be lovely.
but i can break things, and move without regret.
i can make promises. and then forget.