the west side

7:47 am, november 8th

I remember how you closed your eyes, steadying yourself to materialize the emotions I described to you in your own arms and chest. You would do so amidst downpour, beside west side characters maneuvering past with their briefcases, dogs, strollers, and groceries, as your name was being called and the sounds of the dishwasher slipped into your bedroom afterschool. Whether we practiced our first illustrations of empathy together I’m not sure, but I still wrap my arms around myself and close my eyes now the same way we did then.