when I told you I was *****
I was drunk and sad
and you said
that you were so sorry
and held me as  
I cried into your shoulder

you still look at me funny
you're conscious
of your hands
and voice
of whether you
reveal too much
conscious
that you shouldn't treat me
any differently

that our awkward
bus stop talks
and
empty locker-conversations
are palatable
and that the alternative
isn't

but
I wish you'd bring it up
because
I think
it feels
immeasurably worse
to move on
when we've made
such little progress
moving anywhere
that is