some lies about spring

the pace of your steps and the way the wind gusts, blowing dust and dead leaves just recently released from winter into your eyes are the only two things i can think about. later on it will be with hesitation and regret that i try to recall your facial expressions as you looked at me every few steps (i always looked down and to the left) or where your arms fell and what shapes your hands made.
stupid details i wish i could summon to gleem some significance from because you're so fucking inscrutable the way you just nod when i say nothing. i didn't say anything, forget it. not today.
maybe tomorrow.