This life punctuated with loneliness...

I thought if I married

the loneliness punctuating my life

would evaporate,

would burn off like darkness in the morning.

I thought I would breathe

clear and still

and I would forget what it felt like--

not to be loved.

Now nights find me waking,

listening

to the slow even rhythm of your breathing,

the heavy weight of your chest rising,

the soundless exhale of its resolution.

I don't know where you dream.

The familiarity of you wakes me in the mornings--

the gait of your footfall,

the scratch of your razor,

the tune hummed while dressing,

your humming toothbrush--

And I wonder about being loved;

what is feels like not to be loved,

and while I'm thinking,

while my eyes are still closed,

you leave without saying goodbye.

--mb

And then there was something to say...

I have not written anything for months. Months. Remember the story about that woman in Idaho who didn't write anything for ten years. She said one day the words just ran out. One day she couldn't think of a single thing to say. Then one day, all those years later, the words came back to her and then there was something to say.

Maybe that is what happened to me.

If all this silence

was what it took to say goodbye.

Days of saying nothing,

so the wrong things would not get said;

would not be laid out on the table;

would not sit between us like so many other regrets.

Then I would quiet my mouth.

I would let the day drift by unsounded--

its clean, yellow light falling on the table

its warmth lying between us.

I would sit until the darkness came

and you had left the scene in silence.

--mb