What I Didn't Ask

I scrolled back to March.

There it was—the message I'd started:

"I know you're saying—"

Then I deleted it.

I knew. Of course I knew.

The way you stopped saying its name,

the way your schedule suddenly changed,

the friend you'd never mentioned before.

I could have asked.

Instead I typed: "Cool. Sounds great."

That was the choice.

Not the silence after.

The choice was the pretending,

and now when you don't call,

I remember I gave you permission.