the music is fleeting, transient, waltzing in the middle of
an abandoned church parking lot
i know i'm not supposed to remain here
fixated on the bite of the chill
but i can't help it.  
i don't love you anymore.  
we've both known this for a while,
but i can't find the righteous strength to let it slip from my mouth
i'd rather live in a lie
of unhappiness
and petaled dishonesty
than ever tell you how i feel.
i had lunch with him this afternoon
he had his guitar
and he plucked the songs
he knew i would want to hear
i'm not saying i could fall in love with him
but i can become obsessed with the way he doesn't hide behind
false silence
in an attempt
to make me affirm him.
we aren't working
you and i
between your character of meek silence
and apathetic ignorance
and mine of bold conversations
and tones that would get me kicked out of libraries
your gentle touch
and my cold tongue
we were never meant
to be in moderation.  
i can't write this
i can't write this
i can't write this
not if i can't tell you first.