Sometimes when I talk to you, your eyes are distorted by a liquid shimmer.
"I'm not crying. You're crying!"
A dead guy once called that rheumy-eyed stare "the puddly look of nostalgia."
Are you reliving the past when you look at me? I have to admit there was something oddly familiar the first time I saw you, banging on the side of the vending machine in Bldg. B to loosen a scrunched and skewed bag of Cool Ranch Doritos so it'd drop down into the tray.
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