Static

The television is on.

We're not watching it.

You're in the chair.

I'm on the couch.

There's a distance that feels

like it's supposed to be here,

like it's the right distance

for two people

who just said

things that can't

be unsaid.

The screen glows.

The light bounces

off your glasses.

Off mine.

We both look like

we're watching,

like we care what's happening

on the screen,

like we haven't just

broken something

that fits together

differently now.

I could say something.

You could say something.

But the words

that come to mind

feel like they'd make it worse,

feel like they'd be too much

or not enough,

feel like they'd be

another way to fail.

So we sit.

And the television

keeps talking,

keeps filling

the space between us

with sound,

with people who know

what to do with their mouths,

with a story that resolves,

with proof that some things

have endings.

But this doesn't.

This just sits here,

unfinished,

waiting for someone

to be brave enough

to move,

and I don't think

either of us

is brave today.