How peculiar to be privvy to a person's human being-ness for the very first time.
When I was younger, I don't believe my eyes were able to see in this way. Or perhaps rather, my mind was not quite ready to allow my eyes to see in this way. After all, there is a level of discomfort that accompanies a certain awareness.
I had never seen his eyes before. I had never taken him for a man. He's always been a caricature of sorts; an authority figure of a teddy bear and quite type-mimicry. But now he exists as I imagine he always has (by sheer definition): seams visible, potentially vulnerable . . . apart from all else, as a _______ .
What does he now notice looking at me? Where do I show age? Experience? Sexuality?
(Am I fair game?)
. . .
Once again dawn has arisen, only to find me thrashing about; still searching for a comfortable position in which to greet the night.
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