"What's the date?"
"March 24th."
"..."

I watched the light drain from your eyes
and your fingers stop moving over the page.
Suddenly, I knew.
A year.
It's been a year.
****.

"I don't think I'll be here Thursday or Friday."
"And that's alright."

You looked up.
I looked down.
Away and back at you.

"That's alright."

As I took your hand,
I felt the final crack in my heart
stitch itself together.
It was an understood
I'm here for you.
I hope you saw it in my smile.