Homeless

We're walking in the same parking lot. You are on your way into the grocery store. My eyes are on the ground. I'm looking for cigarette butts strangers threw that have something left to smoke. Your eyes shift on and off me hoping I don't ask you for anything. I try not to notice who around me is staring. I don't want to see their faces. I remove the top off the butt bucket by the entrance and sift through whats on the top. Anything too low is soggy from the rain. Or stale. There's needles, but they have caps. I grab a few butts and replace the top. I go to walk away. I hear you start to say, 'here, do you want a...'. Your wife grabs you and pulls you away. 'Don't TALK to her!' She hissed, appalled.

I peel my eyes off the ground and watch you both walk away. She's scolding you.

This moment. Is a different type of lonely.

Shame has a weight.

A different meaning to sad. Alone.

An alternate life. Parallel, but very far apart. Even though, we're walking in the same parking lot.