You still play with your hair

when unsure of what to do with your hands

And though the smiles you give me now

are more inquisitive and abashed

than romantic

I can’t help but feel like we share

something behind them

And you still crinkle your nose

when you laugh

and use words longer and older

than the Bayeux Tapestry

You still lean forward when being attentive

And run away when you see something

you’re not prepared for

if only to gain a few seconds

to collect yourself

You still talk about pop culture

as if it were your own invention

and cling to your pockets

for dear life

You still walk in straight lines

and communicate so faintly

that communication itself

might be mistaken for a mistake

You’re still you.

Am I still me?