The Silent Script

I saw you, across the street.

Your back was to the light, a silhouette.

The practiced phrases rose, a tight knot

in my throat, tasted like ash.

The careful apologies, the measured anger,

the 'I understand' that was a lie.

Each syllable, a stone I'd turned,

over and over, smooth in my palm.

My feet just kept walking.

Yours did too.

The words, perfectly formed, stayed trapped,

clattering like dry leaves in my skull.

It was better this way, I told myself.

It always is.