Still

It's not that the game didn't matter, it's just that I wasn't watching.

Because when you show up alone at halftime and look into the constellation of humans in bleachers you just might finally recognize the light years of loneliness separating each heavenly body regardless of if the astronomers named them "Mom" or "that kid who sits by the knight".

Twenty-five-hundred the number ingrained in our brains from the moment we were quarantined together, but I looked through it twice and couldn't find the cousin who would laugh as he took my place in hell, or grandparents living their lives like a duet in no need of a crescendo.

I know I've left out Ted Bundy and your boss, but somehow, I still like people.

I looked into the bleachers and saw stars instead of worlds, because their light doesn't rely on anything but the street lamps of Alpine and forest fires of Compton raging straight out of ever-pounding hearts to undefined bloodstreams.

So much brighter than the words "world class" or any of the world's classes, and I don't care what corner of the galaxy you're from, because we're trying to bridge light years, and we're drastically behind.

For some reason the non-socialite mother who knew her son wouldn't play looked so brave sitting there alone. 

Not cheering, because at forty she's still shy, and number 99 by the water coolers doesn't need another voice in the crowd to know that he is loved.

Sometimes all they make is noise and rage

So I can't explain it

But I still like them.

 There's a dank and overgrown forest in their heart alongside the echoless canyon in their bones.

But instead of rustling leaves, crackling fires and howling wolves-

I hear crickets.

Yellow lights to beat.

Weather they claim to love but hide from under an umbrella when it comes.

Raindrops who came for that promise of love but vanish uncharted into the far-too absorbent ground.

But mom always kissed my hand before she left me with a babysitter,

and I felt safe all night long.

Dad knew absolutely everything,

and when he didn't

There's no help Google couldn't offer a pair of 9 to 5 suburbanite pre-2010 best friends.

That's 2.

And 7 billion is too many to juggle yet still not enough to fill up the night sky.

But I don't know,

I still like people.