We Sit At the Side of the River
We sit at the side of the river. . .
He tosses a few stones,
Anger and hurt in his fling
They plop and plummet into the depths. . .
I gaze at the stars, feeling alone,
Hoping they will catch my tears as they come. . .
I look back at him now, heavy in anguish
Trying to be stronger than I am,
Pulling the weight of whatever we are. . .
I am ready to work for us,
But where is he?
He stares forward, almost seething,
Tossing another sinking stone
There is despair there, and it wounds my soul
A hint of dread there too. . .
I ask him,
“What do you want from me. . ?”
Something slithers across the water
The wind sways the trees compassionately
As I let the tears fall. . .
I let the tears fall because I am no longer a child
And this love means everything. . .
But where is he...?
I gaze at him with more wonderment than the stars
He turns his head, looks me in the eye,
Sucking in a deep breath
He says,
“I can’t tell you, Laura. . .
Because my answer is selfish.”
I rummage through the stones
I pick one, and skim it across the river
Out of sight
“No, your answer is not selfish—
It’s your silence that’s selfish. . .”
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