Maple Leaves Still haven't Appeared on the Branches Above

We had a conversation in my car, parked in the lot right outside your dorm with the car still on as per usual. You drooped your shoulders after three hours of dancing in the main room at the JJL signifying that your general state of joy and elation in front of your friends had returned to the thoughts that had bounced like a rock falling into the Grand Canyon. They continued as they had been. Your decision. Explaining that someone had spoken negatively regarding Gordon, the gentleman who you had fallen away from and been attracted back recently. The choice was yours to make, you tell me and I nod. Nothing I haven't heard before, but the actions of others force one to repeat previous statements, consistently, leaving you dismembered; head down that canyon, body standing around, arms crossed waiting for the head to miraculously fly back out and land back on it's shoulders. Maybe the head will come back, but not permanently. You tell me of your feelings for him, and I don't have to nod; I know. The way you speak of him moves in tandem with your own personality. Like a connection that you have figured out.

I then tell you that what people have been saying, that they believe something is happening between you and I and you're surprised. Why didn't they come to you, you ask. You weren't satisfied with my shrug and neither was I. Then my mouth opens even though I know it probably shouldn't have; a quaint threat. You don't swallow. I tell you that it didn't effect me as much as it did looking back, then. I turned the lights off one more click and tell you that people trust you, love you and will support your decisions. They're just concerned, and within reason.

You're looking at an old tree to your right, a vague representation of how you might possibly view what has happened. The general time it has taken for things to go to hell, right themselves and continue in flux mimics the rings beneath the chipping bark; accelerated by your wish for things to be normalized. I look at the keys, the stereo, the dimmed time and back up at you. You're still jarred - or so it appears - and not moving at all in the passenger seat.