Indifference

A season out of place.

A happening with no omen.

A feast without a fanfare.

The soft dissonance of warmth, in the coldest place.

A distorted interruption.

An error written into the climate.

An absence of welcome.

The creak of the door, open by design, for you.

I held nothing but the dull hum of acceptance;

The monotonous moan of melancholic resignation.

You effortlessly substituted it for a melody

Whose notes I never asked to learn, and yet I did.

The still sound subtly swayed, and I with it.

You never knew, of course.

All you had to do was be yourself.

Careless, the same way

The sunlight never asks who to warm.

It takes talent to move through the world

And not realise how much of it

Turns to follow you.

Maybe that's why I mistook your indifference

For grace.

You never knew, of course.

You had me blinded; wrapped around your finger,

All the while wearing the blindfold yourself

As you pummelled on, relentlessly.

A sequence of hours

Turned into pages I could not stop re-reading.

Each moment inked in a colour

Only I seemed to see; to recognise; to appreciate,

And yet, never the same as before.

You never knew, of course.

You never noticed the way

I clung on to every word,

Like shells in a retreating tide.

The world never stopped turning,

Never allowed me to catch my breath.
I'm still reeling from the sudden impact -

Unwelcome as it was -

Both at the beginning, as well as its end.

You never knew, of course.

You never spared a glance,

Unlike the way the world does for you.

That can never be your way.

I learned the weight of anticipation

By carrying it alone, unassisted,

Like a coat I never removed

Long after the weather changed,

Long after it ceased to fit.

You never knew, of course.

You pranced ahead, unburdened,

While I catalogued every step,

Afraid to miss the moment you might turn around.

I mistimed everything.

My breath, my expectations, my silence.

I spoke in half-measures and pauses,

Leaving space where certainty should have breathed,

Hoping my absence might teach you presence.

You never knew, of course.

You never heard the questions

I perpetually swallowed whole,

Mistaking restraint for dignity.

What lingered was not admiration,

But its afterimage;

A warmth that remained long after its source vanished,

Convincing me that the sun was still nearby,

Just hidden behind a passing cloud.

You never knew, of course.

My stillness was mistaken for ease,
My patience for permanence,

And my hushed tone for acquiescence. 

I replay those moments more often than most;

Not for clarity, but for punishment.

The way your voice rearranged the room,

The way I allowed it without question, and

The way I made Your authority my gospel.

You never knew, of course.

You were already elsewhere,

While I lingered in every cherished moment,

Before the inevitable, final shift.

I now sit with what remains;

Not anger, not sadness, just the residue.

The quiet proof of miscalibration,

Of effort that went unremarked

Because it was ultimately never needed.

You never knew, of course.

And that, perhaps,

Is the only thing

That never changed.