what we don't say

you sit across from me

your legs folded like apology

your hands restless

like they’re looking for a place to land

i feel it in my throat

the way your sadness rises

and i swallow it

again

you tilt your head when you listen

like you’re trying to catch the version of me

that doesn't flinch

but she’s late

always late

i keep my spine straight

keep my face open

keep my breath slow

but my palms sweat

every time you say

“i don’t want to be here anymore”

like a secret you’ve made peace with

i want to touch your wrist

not to save you

but just to say

i see you

i feel it

right here

under the skin

where it lives like a tremor

i feel seen

and it makes me want to vanish

or be held

or fuck

i don’t know

something

anything

to make this sharpness quiet

you don’t move

you never move

but your pupils dilate

just enough

for me to know

you’re in it too

you smell like cedar and stillness

and something clean

like someone who has never been called too much

you carry your concern

in your jaw

you bite it back

and still

i feel it

every time

you look at me like that

when you leave

i sit in the chair you sat in

just for a second

to remember what it felt like

to hold that much fire

and not burn

when i leave

i check the mirror in the hallway

to see if i’m still here

to see if you erased me

or saved me

some days i forget

who is the one unraveling

and who is the one watching

but we are both

so

unbelievably

still