your being

I try to look her in the eye. I try to make the metal in my joints bend, even if they tickle. I try all I can to catch her attention.

(Not even the loudest sound I make brings her closer to me.)

Sometimes she passes me by. Sometimes she comes down only for a brief moment, then heads right up. Sometimes I’m not sure if she remembers me.

(I already forgot the name she gave me, but I hope that she’ll lift up my chin and say it once more.)

I am afraid. I am left alone in this cold, grey space. I am worried about my exposed insides, almost worn and painted with rust.

(All I can do is bask in my abandoned progress.)

I try to look her in the eye when she sometimes passes me by. But I am afraid. Metal is my flesh, surely, and I’m sure that’s all she sees in me.

(If she looks me in the eye and I blink, will she realize I belong to her?)