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I keep the day busy, and when it stops the sad part comes back. She has no idea how close I want to be to her, and she will not hear it from me. She is not in the room and I am still talking to her. The rest of it is in here, and it is love, and I will not call it pain.

A thought arrived that I had not asked for, and it took apart something I have believed about trust my whole life. It kept going from there, through the machine, through the wreckage, and into the part of me I have never written down. What it left behind is in here, and it is the truest thing I know about myself.

I want more from her than I am getting, and I will not pretend otherwise. I hand whole days to a question with no answer I can check. The love can stay where it is. The watching is what I have to put down.

I spent years treating every thought as a verdict and every mistake as a failure. I fought my own head and never won a round. These days I ask what it needs before I ask what it means.