Anyway

There was a pause on the call.

Long enough.

I could have said it then —

the thing I've been keeping in my back pocket

like a folded piece of paper

that's going soft at the creases.

I said anyway instead.

We moved on.

The phone went face-down on the table.

The screen was still warm when I picked it up

twenty minutes later.

So here it is, in writing,

where I can't hear your voice

change shape around it:

I don't think you're okay.

I don't think you've been okay for months

and I've been watching you

perform fine

and I am tired

of pretending I believe it.

Anyway.