the circus surreal

I held her body close to mine
Clung to her
And did not want to let her go.
I wanted her to stay leant against me like that
Not forever
But for longer than that short moment
Standing on the corner of Cornell and Central
Trying not to block or disturb the patrons
As they flow in and out of the Frontier
She is hard to miss in her hoodie
The color of a sickly margarita, and so worn
It seems she had to mug a hapless hobo for it
And yet here she is
Arms wrapped around my rather cushy mid-section
Her coke-bottle glasses smushed up against my left shoulder
Her face is toward my ear
And she is whining
She whines like a small child when she is afraid
And she is often terrified of the world
Preferring her small existence
Where she must flip the light switch three times
Before she can leave a room
Her existence where she is safe
I don’t want to let her go, let her get in the car and drive home
But I have to, I cannot hold her against her will
She is not mine, has never been mine
To love or hold or protect
And yet I persist
With a dozen roses and constant affection
I persist
And I apologize to her
For forcing my self on her in this way
Afraid to miss my only chance
I cling and won’t loosen my grip.
She is the sun in the circus of my life
My strange miracle and my haven of nonconformist conformity
Who she is makes me inexplicably happy.