The saddest thing is kindness. When we’re done
are almost strangers. Maybe meet for tea.
Did you decide its end, or was it me?
Relationship over before begun
And never heartbreak, just the sort of pain
that comes and goes. That wakes you in the night.
Sour aftertaste of what was not delight
but just a hint of promise. We remain
obedient servants of the other’s time.
Small sorrows’ patient auditors. So far
from where we were last year. And here we are.
Thought better of it. That is not a crime.
I think sometimes of what we might have had
Better not risked, yet very faintly sad.