Truant

Deliberate or otherwise, your reckless stunt bruised me. It punctured deeper than I'd care to admit. But I am conceited and is not given to admitting defeat without first entertaining an amicable alternative to resolve all tangled thoughts and foolish acts. I ruled out judgment; I anticipated simple gestures of courtesy. Is it too much to expect? I don't think so. So I held my breath. Waiting led to minutes that dissolved into hours and hours bloomed into days and days drifted into tongueless limbos and only the elongated silence that amplify these aches can prove that you once existed. A belated apology surfaced and I somehow debated the merit of the expressed sincerity, hoping for both our sakes that it was just an inevitable human lapse during an excited rush and a moment of weakness. If one should insist on accounting for all the hurt reaped from the easy episodes (and that barbed beginning) then we have a blurry ledger to audit. Is it too late? Slowly it's dawning upon me: We both have cowardice to tame, and you toss unnecessary apologies to mend your embarrassment. Eventually all this will float into forgotten corners and we will both resume breathing freely in different compartments of our individual lives. Until then, the key you tossed under the door will lie quietly on top of my desk. Its contours glowing softly, much like the mellow timbres of your first hello.