I have bedded these thoughts,
considered them in your absence
and in mine,
and still am.
I am busy untangling them,
forgive me for my distance.
I've done what was expected of me,
but it does not make a difference,
so how can I know it was
right
when all I have are the times before
to compare it to?

I've learned a few things,
not in your favor
or mine,
so I ruminate,
contemplate, meditate,
toss and turn these thoughts like
coins.
Heads or tails?

I'll write these words,
twist them just carefully enough
to claim plausible deniability,
or whatever that means,
and then write a more honest
account when my tongue
is not poisoned by alcohol.

By this account, and days, perhaps,
of turning it over,
I will decide what I must do.
You must know that I take
careful consideration of these decisions
which affect how I spend my
time.

You must know that I love you,
perhaps in ways that are
not in the ways that you love me,
but I know that you do.
I know.
But perhaps that is the
fundamental difference.

I've tried my best to reconcile,
but when evidence proves that I cannot,
I must deliberate,
I must decide.