Yawn

There are instances we get caught doing something we prefer not get caught doing, and our bodies give away our embarrassment, like ears turning red. I do something unusual to express my guilt, almost by reflex--I yawn. It is as if non-verbally reasoning that boredom is an all-around excuse to do shameful deeds.
I know yawning does not hide or at least justify what I was doing, it is merely my quiet way of saying, "Oops" or "You got me". Still, the people who catch me either pretend to not see it or just laugh at the silliness of my reaction. If they point it out, I just shrug, "I had nothing better to do".
I have not been yawning too much recently, and if I do, it is because I am sleepy. That could mean I have been a well-behaved boy, or got really good at not getting caught, or stopped caring getting caught. Probably the last one is most true. I mind less and less being seen making a fool of myself. And it feels liberating.
The image of my self in you may be stained indelibly. And slowly I come to fully accept that. Fretting about it is useless. I must simply rely on your mercy. If I do not survive, then the yawn is just one big sigh.

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Sun

When you were the sun, I could only gravitate around you, but not towards you. I needed to stay close to feel your warmth, but far enough to avoid getting burned.
Fear of human contact may stem from a history of unpleasant experiences. Like the times I got electrocuted by static when I shook your hand or tapped your shoulder. And the aforementioned time we shared breathing space and you gave me measles.
Yet despite the inevitability of a negative outcome, there is a yearning for connection. I met you, magnetic and infectious that I just got hooked. So I negotiated with myself and compromised.
Put myself in a safe position as stuck as a triple point. Until a foreign particle came along, disturbed the system, and made history.

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