face value

i see his face each night. he still startles me each time.

by now, i should be used to how his face is disfigured. how his eye hangs slightly lower and the long, jagged scar crossed his cheek holding in, holding back whatever hurt him this way. his slightly pinkish skin casts an odd contrast where his five o'clock shadow should be by 10 pm.

i try not to stare. but want so desperately to see.

i know i wince when he catches me off guard. he bursts through my post-workout endorphin rush as i head to the ladies room to finally release the muscles of my bladder, who maintain their own workout routine.

does he understand my guilt that i shouldn't even feel? i didn't hurt him or cause this physical pain. each time i see him, i am like all the rest.

my eyes, my face, my expression sears new scars onto his face that's already seen too many.