The Old is Dying and the New Cannot be Born

"Don't worry about it right now," he says. He knows I'm not listening. There are other sounds here. Someone on the stereo is whispering to me about love and regret, and I'm being sucked into the surface-passion of it all, just like a woman. And his eyes aren't on me anymore. but past me to the left. staring at things or people I don't want to see. I want him to look at me. I want him to see the uncertainty on my face. The lines around my young eyes. like deep, threatening fissures that will swallow first my lids. then lashes. then all the white and brown and delicate layers between.