Empathy (or Lack Thereof)

It’s raining and we’reoutside. You tugat the hem of yoursweater (we forgot anumbrella) and water rolls off yournosesticks to youreyelashesdrenches yourhair. You’re so cold. I cantell. Your ankles are just abouttremblingfingers almost tingedblue. Your lips arethe color of grapes and all I thinkis it looks like you got into theblackberries again.

I open my mouth to apologizebecause I can push my glasses upmy nose without my fingerstrembling; there isn’t even aneed for me to wring out mysocks when we get home. I’m notcold atall. I think of giving you myjacket but it just wouldn’tfit you. I don’t feelsoaked to thebone orlike the world isgiving up on me. Infact I feel nothing butseverely over-dressed. I smile(youdon’t.)