They don't know

I almost asked you today.

But I didn't.

Between your hesitation or "no", I'll take the high road.

The road that leads to another X on the calendar.

Another tally mark I wish I could carve into my skin for "letting" you go.

For cracking open a door you waltzed right through.

It'll piss you off to hear this, but my dental hygienist still asks about you.

"How's that girl in California?"

In fact, that's what they all ask.

It takes me a moment to swallow the razorblades,

but I tell them you're thriving.

That the universe breaks its back to make your dreams come true.

That the stars rearrange themselves to bend to you.

But they don't know their guess is as good as mine.

Our time in the sun passed like a siesta.

Our moment of bliss is ancient history.

You're long gone.

Not in some obsolete way, like phonebooks or cassette tapes.

You're more like a market crash. An anniversary date.

I carry your significance like a scar that doesn't fade.

I've learned it's better not to talk about you. Out loud anyway.

But in the recesses of my mind, we never stop dancing.

The light that faded from my eyes is still there.

I preserve you in my writing.

In journal entries.

On the foggy shower glass.

I've learned to love you in silence.

In the far-off glances I make as if you'll be there.

I love you in dreams where you stay

and in the mornings when I realize you didn't.

I love you in every sentence I never start,

in every call I don't make,

in every "I'm fine" I don't mean,

in every half-smile I wear like armor.

I remember things you don't realize you've told me.

There were times I envied you--

the power you held in saying nothing,

while I laid everything bare.

You don't say what I can't stop feeling.

You never say what might cost you your comfort.

You smile like sorrow is a language you learned too early.

I wonder who taught you not to love out loud.

I want to know how deep the silence goes inside you.

I want to reach in and tear it out with my bare hands.

But I don’t.

I build a home out of your silence and mistake it for love.

I keep handing you softness and you hold it like it’s fire.

Most days I want to scream. Tell you it shouldn’t be this hard.

I should just show you. To hell with it.

I'll take care of the 2600 miles if you take care of an inch.

We can call that meeting in the middle.

But for now,

I'll pretend that Valerian root or anything other than you will help me sleep again,

that your laughter didn't sound like sunshine escaping from a jar,

that the storm raging within me will just blow over,

that this lonely chapter will end,

that happily ever after isn’t just for other people.