Radio Silence

We've been running in opposite directions for 8 months.

Parallel universe versions of us are

ashamed at the distance we make on either side of the same city.

You know that feeling where you believe I am going to

be at the same place as you, and you complain enough

so I don't show up, because why would I come to a place I

know I'm unwanted at. Not unwanted by others

but by you.

You.

Wasn't there a time when you and I was much simpler

than this?

A time when we sang Alt-J in your car on the way

to get slushies, wearing each others grad sweaters.

Nothing else mattered but the light in our eyes and

the grins so wide on our faces.

The distance between us now is more than the

approximately 16 minute drive from my

house to yours. It is eight freaking months of radio

silence.

Of avoiding each others eyes, avoiding each others voices.

Avoiding each others laughs. Your laugh?

Used to sing melodies in my heart. Now when I hear it

I freeze.

Sometimes I swear I hear your voice when I'm in

public and a panic ensues me because what am I

supposed to do when I see you? I can no longer

look at you with a smile and say hello.

No longer jump in for a pick-me-up hug. No

longer look you in the eyes with the love I

once felt.

The distance has been eight months, but

it feels like eight years.