We’re driving towards Cape Split
with the sound of the engine cackling filling the cab
when she says that she likes how careful I am with words,
how comfortable I feel in a silence such as this.
During our trip we stop along the cliffs
that seem to cleave into the water.
We take pictures of our shadows;
a simple reminder that we’ve left a mark.
There are a few people on the grass,
looking unsure of where to go next.
It’s not immediate
but eventually she leaves.
A few months later,
we saw each other.
She says
you look like you’ve been doing alright
she says
you didn’t do anything wrong
she says
I just needed to make a change
and now I’m just trying to think of what to say.
You see,
I know that because of her
I know how to write this poem
and make it more than just words.
I know that while
I have been sad around her
I’ve never felt lonely.
While I’m still trying to choose these next words carefully
she leaves.
And soon I am just left asking questions
to an empty room.
