this morning on a quiet drive to work
it occurred to me that though I think of you
so intensely, so seriously, I cannot bring myself
to admit it to anyone, not even to myself.
though the drive was relatively short it lasted
with an incredible weight. this same weight is hidden
every time I tell others how great my weekend was
or how long it has been since I have seen you.
and at night when I lay in the bed I feel the headache
set in, the same way it does after a long day of bad news.
and I know about those kinds of days, the days when
at any point it feels as though a fresh new wave of
disappointment and troubles are sure to hit.
today I ran from you; around corners, behind emails,
in the faces of the young who visit my clinic,
and in the mirror as I wash my hands. that mirror
is the most painful place I have been, aside of course
from watching you leave and wondering, as I often do,
if this time you might not come home.