February
Three squeezes.
My mother told me that
Sometimes the words get tired,
Sometimes people get worn out,
So  we can squeeze instead.
Three squeezes, and four in return.
I love you.
Too.
You pretended not to understand,
Too afraid of permanence.

June
Your face was just as familiar
Even three weeks away.
Your warmth my home,
Hand in hand and natural.
Three squeezes.
Four in return.
A gravitational pull,
A nirvana,
A promised land.
You were mine
to hug so tight I might crack a rib.
But that's just how I loved you.
The squeezy type of way.

September
Three squeezes.
Silence.
A reluctant reply,
A command sent from the mind
But not the heart.
The silent book we had written together
No longer lay open on your shelf.
My mother told me that
Sometimes people get tired,
Sometimes people get worn out.
She never told me that sometimes
People get tired of you.