Somehow the conversation turns.

it was all about you,

Possibly the first time you,

have ever, ever stood in the spotlight.

They were dimming,

I thought.

I hoped.

But, no.

Of course not.

Not with you,

it's never easy,

is it?

To simply walk away,

close your eyes,

embrace a new day?

No, instead

(I imagine here)

as you are about to leave,

walk away and believe,

You pause.

Hesitate.

Open your mouth once,

Type the words I cannot see,

Close it,

Delete,

Repeat.

"Send."

"It's been two years,

And seven months,

since we last tried," You say,

Write,

Whatever.

I blink, I sigh. Smile.

The words are at my fingers,

itching for release:

'Sorry, but I'm married now'.

How you'd scoff at that,

I wait,

You wait,

You speak.

Imagine a sigh, a possible whine.

Perhaps you've frowned,

shook your head,

and say the words;

"You could make this easier--"

Of course I could,

It's not my way,

"--by talking about your boyfriend."

And I laugh.

I've learned,

From the mistakes I made.

No. Please, do not take it that way.

Your frienship,

Will never,

be the mistake of which I speak.

But you,

Already know,

Where that mistake lies.

I hope you do.

Within our own hearts,

For ever, ever attempting,

To make more,

of a situation,

In which we were never sure.

That man of which you wish me to speak,

I never think I will.

I have not wanted him, truly, in my heart,

Have never needed him;

Something to toss away,

A tattoo I cannot shake,

the heaviest baggage,

and the largest mistake.

Two years and seven months,

my friend,

Shall never be,

Nowhere near,

Long Enough.