subtext

I should go, but I don’t.

The silence is too loud

to mask my good-byes.

I pour more whisky,

swirl the ice idly,

then swallow it.

Of course, you arrive late,

in a flurry of hugs.

“I’m surprised you’re here.

I’m surprised as well.

We should talk, I think.

But, of course, we don’t.

I leave the party soon after—

uncertain, why I am here.

(August 31, 2024)