In Each Other's Mirrors

I take the downtown exit, park the car, and find shade under a palm tree at the train platform. Will you recognize me? People change. Right now, I'm talking about the outside: Will you notice I don’t have braces, blonde hair, or that now, my hair flirts with black, and has become a wild stream that runs mid-way down my back? I can't help to wonder if we'll let each other in, take the darkness out of our scars. I imagine we'll confess how life has treated us, and stand like children, anxious to make eye contact. I had no idea, a month later, a puzzling distance would metastasize between us, even after we submersed ourselves in a weekend of infinite colors; and me, blinded by the rays of promise under the southern Yosemite Sierra sun.