good morning.
you don’t fool me.
don’t think you can.
i’ve known you since i was born
or practically, anyway
so by now you should be easy
to predict.
and you are.
because i can predict that
i won’t understand you
because you’re too good at hiding,
too good at fooling yourself.
i realized i barely know you
and that to me is sad
just because i’ve known you for so long.
you can probably predict
what i will do by now —
these things work both ways —
which is why i pretended
to run you down in the parking lot.
unexpected.
sometimes i’m angry at fools
and being one myself.
then i happen to remember
the time i talked you to death —
the time i told you
i liked your best friend —
the time we played
backyard elves and wizards —
the time you told me
i hurt your feelings —
the time i hid
so your camera couldn’t catch me —
the time you devoured lettuce
and looked like a dinosaur —
the time i hated your hairstyle–
all the times you’ve been there for me —
the times you’ve made me
laugh myself silly.
it’s twelve a.m.
i realize.
good night
(you fool)
