I realized I had been wrong
when I came in the door.
He was sat on the couch,
one ear bud in
quietly drawing in his
sketchbook.
He greeted me with a
“Hi pretty Paige”
and kissed me.
I pulled out my IPad and
we sat like that for awhile
until he looked at me
and said,
I missed you.
It caught me off guard
from convincing myself
he never thinks of me,
so I sheepishly said
I missed you too
and he kissed me on the forehead.
That’s when I knew
I had been wrong.
He’s an artist, he’s quiet.
He doesn’t say all that much
but I think he doesn’t
feel the need to.
He just shows it.
But I am a writer.
Words are like facts to me.
I need to hear and see the proof.
We continued to color
and draw in the quiet of his
living room,
until we walked to the gas station
to get cigarettes, a slurpee
and snacks.
He continued being affectionate,
and I tried my best to stay up late
with him.
He told me he had missed
hanging out with me like this,
and I told him I did too.
And I really had.