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.