We were boys. Our slingshots in our pockets, running hard. Shooting marbles outside on the blacktop. Nudging each other in the ribs when we got one.
And after class, waiting for the bus by the backdoor, you showed me all your bruises and I showed you mine. They were nothing that couldn’t heal with time.
It started slow. The wearing of our souls (soles) beneath the weight. The forgetting of the world we held onto. They did everything we had paid them to do.
Sure enough, they stuck us in our sleep, everyone. And I could feel it, the ice water was replacing my blood. I hate how nothing fazes me anymore. I hate how nothing fazes me anymore.
Now I pass you in corridors and parking lots. You’re not who I once knew but, God, if I were honest, neither am I. I think something deep inside us must have died. Something deep inside us must have died.
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