It’s the quietest parting.
At first, we wake up face to face,
eyes holding and being held,
shifting closer, nestling into nonexistent gaps,
closing in on distant possibilities,
conversations distilled to contented sighs,
saying everything that needs to be said.
At first, that’s how it is.
Then, I fuck up. Or you do.
And we vow to be infinitely patient,
and love in spite of the imperfections.
Your mouth finds mine in the dark,
and in the waking, I feel your breath,
your face near mine,
so I forgive myself, because we’re worth it.
That’s how it goes.
We’re discussing the future –
where to meet, and when…
then it’s an email that explains how plans
are changing, how the week is now an overnight.
It’s not ideal but it’s life, or something.
And I feel the warmth drain.
It’s the quietest parting,
and suddenly you are way…over…there…
That first morning-
after you had kissed me like you understood me,
and we’d made love as if I already loved you-
which I did –
I remember looking into your blue eyes,
tracing the lines at their corners,
and thinking how I hadn’t been happy this way before.