Place Card

Our eyes touch upon one another, then each of my fingers curl to the count, and my eyes back to you. I stumble on how everything special about you has become someone's living room wallpaper. When I return the gaze and feel almost mad, fumbling in my mind, for the call number of the dusty niche from you fell from. Could it be the box numbered twelve in the B row? Oh and how, my clumsiness a.k.a history, shook you out and onto the floor where I stare. I look hard, and away, and then back again, forgetting to smile because I am so perplexed. You say my name through a smile that erased so many mistakes, and I say all of yours. This is a withering exercise. There is no comforting direction divined from this placard.