My heart has cracks your name was made to fit.
The syllables a sound to turn my head,
The shape to catch my breath a little bit.
It’s not the way it looks or how it’s said —
It’s something underlying, something in
The way it springs up sharply when I’m dull
Or whispers softly when my tender skin
Is cringing from the world in its loud pull.
I see your back. I never see your face.
I try forgetting all the things I know.
I’m fine. That’s how it is with time and space —
I don’t complain. (I am a liar though.)
One call — your name — and you would turn around.
My lips stay closed. I do not make a sound.