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.