January Was Easy

I didn't write it down. Just thought: done.

The midnight kind of vow.

January I kept it, every one.

I'm less clear on how

February happened.

Tuesday, eleven at night, the text went out—

not even something that mattered,

just words, nothing to shout

about or explain. I set the phone

face-down and watched the ceiling.

There's a stain up there I've known

long enough to stop feeling

anything about.

The room was quiet. No reply yet.

Maybe no reply at all.

That's not the point. The regret

isn't about the answer.

It's the send.