I’ve never thought of you as reliable
despite all this evidence to the contrary
(when I see you pick up the solitary sock by the fireplace that I didn’t notice.)
How am I so sure that I am the only person in all the world
Who thinks so poorly of you?
You, who would deny me drink if I didn’t insist.
Yet it strikes me as odd that we stand here, together
more silent than the stars
simply existing as such.
Are these the only selves we can be? I wonder. I wish. (Wish we’d live more than once.)
You so ordinary and me so… plain.
Trying not to burst out –supernova —
with all the words we dare not speak.
Reliability is overrated.