The Silence

 You call it calm,

this space between your words

as though the silence is your virtue

and as though stillness could hide the curdling you made.

You speak like your mind forgets what your tongue

conveniently says, even noted.

I have stopped counting the times

you have let your own actions disintegrate your voice.

I have heard that static hum of "busy" and "maybe later".

Though do not call it peace when it is just the acts of neglect

dressed up nicely into composure.

Do not call it friendship 

when two parts are more likened to one. 

I bleed patience 

while you measure the convenience.

You broke the line, the words, your actions

not with thunder and might 

but with a slow fading absence.

A slow erosion that eats at one, softer than

the lies.

And you think I will just be lingering.

Staying nearby.

Or as you put it stalking, not I. That

is a parental right but not a friend.

You think my understanding of the silences

and the absences will be indefinite, 

and perhaps it is,

but I will not keep translating your half

sentences into a form of care.

I am finished being that interpreter.

I am not going to be your 

convenient indifference. 

Suppose that is what you believe

friendships are, but a glance you might

recognize your own shadow.

You voice once steadied storms within me

but now you are dust that just lingers too

long on a bookshelf. 

A whisper that used to matter, a guaranteed

calm that used to mean something.. but... 

now.......

well I saw what you did.

I saw how your care evaporates when it

is not the right person the right moment.

A new bauble has your interest. 

Something that offers less history and fewer

expectations upon your space. 

You drift there

and call that freedom,

while I learn to call it what it is:

cowardice with charm.

I know you are not a cruel one,

but careless you are.. 

and at times that is the worst.

Because at least cruelty admits itself.

Holds its own accountability.

Holds its own darkness.

But carelessness wear a gleeful smile,

says "thanks for thinking of me" 

and walks away whistling.

But I won't chase your shadow this time.

I have stitched myself up enough 

to know that silence is not a part of

our friendship. 

And being that steady constant person 

is just another way to be a starving 

madman.

So go.

Let your calm live elsewhere in another

bauble.

I will make my own peace 

whether it is loud, unbothered

and maybe one day you will ask

why am I being quiet again and

take on your accountability of being 

real with yourself.

Maybe it is not me.

Maybe it is your fear of self that

you cling to something, anything

but that which is clear.

And even when you think my words are

confusing, maybe you just are not ready

to understand the truth.

Perhaps that is the reality of all that lays

before you. I am living my life while you

figure out yours.

When you are ready to be real, not 

snarky, let me know. Until then I am 

silent for my own clarity.