That's Nice

I called to tell him something.

Something with weight,

that had taken weeks

to say out loud.

He listened.

I know he listened

because I could hear him

breathing,

steady,

present

in the way only

absence

can be.

"That's nice," he said.

Then nothing.

The space between us

on the line

became the conversation,

became the whole point,

became the reason

I'd called.

I filled it.

Kept talking.

Explained more

than I needed to,

defended the thing,

made it smaller,

made it safe,

made it

the kind of thing

you could dismiss

with "That's nice"

and move on.

We sat like that

for maybe ten seconds.

Maybe longer.

Then he said

he had to go,

and I said

okay,

and we both

hung up

grateful

for the excuse.

I've been thinking

about the breathing.

The way he was there

but not,

the way he heard me

but didn't

answer.

Some people speak

by not speaking,

say everything

by staying

quiet.

I won't call again

for a while.

We both know

that's what

this meant.