v u l v a l i c i o u s
Let's not tell every secret. Let's not say that you're an alcoholic and I'm a codependent, that enabling would be easy for me and fine for you. That neither of us wants that.
Let's leave out the part where I couldn't say anything, just stared past at the mirror behind your head and thought, "I am supposed to speak now, and I don't know what to say." The part where you were staring off into the distance, not looking at me, maybe thinking exactly the same thing.
I won't tell the piece where I wanted to kiss you but hugged you instead. Listened to your heart beating through layers of coats and wanted to stay there, to feel it, to pulse at the same rate. I won't mention that it was a long wait after we broke apart, my hands in my pockets while you smoked a cigarette. Eyes trying to focus on the homing pigeons circling the sky above, loop loop loop, so that I wouldn't stare too hard at you.
It's not important, that part where I told you that you could stay with me. You were already gone, and maybe you didn't hear. No answer. So it couldn't have mattered much.
How I told you I wanted to be your friend. How I said the wrong thing, I'm sure, again and again. Because I didn't know what to say, didn't know what could possibly be the right thing. I left out so much, because it felt wrong. I said so many things because not saying them felt even worse.
Don't let's tell them everything.
Keep it nothing, unspoken, secret hours in a liquid chapel; a morning in Brooklyn where we talked and talked and came to nothing, something.