watching and being watched


Looking at him and wondering what he sees, what he decides. Looking at him and watching him lead and get wounded, one of those waiting million of barbs destined along the gauntlet of friendship and idolization and school days and playgrounds, wishing, wishing, wishing him to be more adept than I was but not knowing how to impart a greater adeptness through any other means other than wishing.

This is the age or the start of it, anyway.