"Hello," she said.
It was dark
and the concrete below our feet
was a plateau of acerbic teeth
snapping at us,
compelling us to stay in the ring of light
cast by a streetlamp.
Fear of the unknown keeping us right where we were
together.
Lesser of two evils.

I miss you now.
I didn't then.
In the orange tint of the streetlamp
in the cold.
It was impossible to miss you
so stuck in our ways
our daily comings and goings
our morning
"do-you-want-coffee?"
ritual, two mugs already down
before the question is finished being asked.
I couldn't see.
I couldn't - wouldn't -
look ahead. Into the dark.

Teeth gnashed as we waited for the words to stop.
I looked up at the sky,
somehow seeking comfort in the stars but
now I'm not sure if they were there.
One lone helicopter
piloted, I'm sure, buy someone.
But not a star,
not what I needed.
And I was invisible to them.

Not to you though.
And your words shuddered through my skin
to lodge, like a vicious choking noise
in my bones.
And I miss you now.
But I didn't then.
And when you left,
I couldn't follow,
for fear of the dark.
For fear of the unknown.