I hope one day you can understand me again. The way we used to be. Your Forest fire breath leaving me burning under your comforter of language; feeling anything but comfort. I hope one day you will understand me again. Sitting across from you we throw words at each other like stones. Somehow we are still sitting in silence. I tuck your apologizes behind my ear and keep talking. You and I both know you said you were sorry. Even if you never said it out loud. At least I know you did. I hope one day you’ll miss me again. You said you heard my laugh echo through your own mouth;
I’ve stopped laughing. At least in that way.
You asked me why I never showed up for coffee. I wasn’t brave enough to sit there, choking on the silence. I wasn’t brave enough to watch you, watching me. I wasn’t brave enough to feel the way you used to make me feel, and watch you walk away again.
Family reunions aren’t the same.
Your absence sitting on everyone’s chest. Your absence speaks louder than if you really were sitting across from me–
Sometimes I hear you laugh echo through my own mouth.