The Routine
I watch him as he gets ready,
Occasionally he glances my way.
I'm sure
To him
That this is something beautiful,
Something akin to a rare and spectacular flower beginning to bloom for the
first time.
But to me..
To me it's something different
Like a long and drawn out execution
Where you're just waiting for the blade to fall
Or like waiting for the poison
To seep through the body.
I wait with terror in my stomach as he goes through his routine.
Then suddenly the routine is over.
And now the terror I feel is not unfounded
Because as he walks towards me I know my fears have roots
In previous and present experiences.