Between the Lines

Time to tell me the truth; to burden your mouth for what you say. No pieces of paper in the way. Because I can’t continue pretending to choose; these opposite sides on which we fall, and loving-you-laters if at all. 

No right minds. Could wrong be this many times?

My memory is cruel. I’m queen of attention to details, defending intentions if he fails. Until now. He told me her name. It sounded familiar in a way. I could’ve sworn I’d heard him say it 10,000 times. 

If only I had been listening. 

I thought I was ready to bleed. That we’d move from the shadows on the wall, and stand in the centre of it all. 

Too late. Two choices: to stay or to leave. Mine was so easy to uncover. He’d already left with the other. 

So I learned to listen through silence. 

I tell myself all the words he surely meant to say. I talk until the conversation doesn’t stay on “wait for me, I’m almost ready” … when he meant let go.

“Leave” unsaid, unspoken. Eyes wide shut, unopened. 

You and me, always between the lines.

Sara Bareilles

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