Fuzzy

One night, you told me that it was over.

It was at a rooftop bar near Huntington.

Just before, I was telling you about how

my astigmatism always acted up in the

fuzzy glow of orange-yellow string lights.

I said that it made me tear up if I stared

at them for too long, and you told me how

it reminded you of how when you were

little, your family would set the sprinkler

off in your backyard on steamy summer days.

Light would refract and reflect and break

the day apart into a million pieces off of

every singular drop of water, bathing the

grass and you and your siblings in its glow.

You told me that it was one of your favorite

memories, and that it made you sad, because

you couldn't remember a time in the last five

months when you were that happy. You kept

playing with your glasses while you spoke.

Avoiding eye contact. Looking up at the string

lights. I tried to follow your gaze--but couldn't.

I figured you were looking at something that

would always be fuzzy to me.

-JC