what am I to you

that you would tell me
you love me

as easily as though
we were seated side-by-side
on a park bench
feeling the emerald grass
beneath our feet,
watching little children
catching pink balloons
that have taken off
into the purple sky,
chanting our promises
in made-up songs,
laughing at every blunder
like life has no tests
like we haven’t yet failed
what am I to you

that you would just let yourself
concede such
too easily said
hardly ever meant

as though the sky
were a finger’s touch away
and the clouds would melt
in a gentle downpour
and you hand me
your umbrella
while you dance
in the rain

who am I to you

that you could just say
you love me

like it didn’t matter to me
what you said
when of course it did
it always has

as if you didn’t know

as if you’d never teased me
into it
into this cloister of complexly
interwoven lives
playing in the hands of the immortal
while pretending to bask
in the sun

I wait here
wait here for you
to whisper the truth.

First published on June 29, 2012


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