I told myself, “He understands me.”
but was it not just a shade of need?
Did his hands remind me of yours?
Did he make me laugh or did I choose to?
Ever more present are echoes of conversations we didn’t get to finish
I told myself, “It’s just harmless.”
But was my heart already pulling up a chair?
Making space at a table where only you should sit.
All the sheepish smiles I returned, hugs I didn’t refuse…
A gentle betrayal, a soft confession.
A statement that I am lonely.
That I miss you in ways I struggle to admit aloud.
So I stitched small fictions, threaded in pieces of
“It’s nothing,”
“It doesn’t mean a thing,”
“You’re the only one.”
But each stitch held a truth I wasn’t brave enough to say…
That distance is not just miles, but moments …
moments when another stood where you should have been.