We lay in different places with the same thought in our eyes.
so I try to say a word- a word we’ll both understand- to mean what we both want it to mean.
Because we’re both afraid to say it out loud.
together we stare deep into one another before he mutters, “what?”
and everything else clears away like a morning fog bids the afternoon farewell.
“I hate you,” I say, and I smile a little.
“I hate you, too,” he replies, with a grimace of dirt.
“good, then- we’re both on the same page.”
“good.”
and we laid there, together. For years.

But then, when I looked back to where he used to be, he was gone.
And I can only guess that he hated me too much.