Rotting flowers can still smell sweet,

My smile burning my face.

Always fake.

Yet you know.

As my leg bounces beneath the table,

Cries digging into my throat,

You noticed.

Huh.

This is new.

You push a paper clips across the table towards my shaking hands,

Still looking up front.

I fold it between my fingers,

Fidgeting until I slow.

Smile now real,

Except in my heart,

Not one my face.

You knew.

You saw.

You cared.

Huh.

This is new.

Teal blue paper clip,

Moving through my hand,

As I follow its track.

At the end,

Now calm,

I hand it back and whisper,

“Thank you”,

Because you knew.