An Excerpt from a diary

i keep thinking about how easily i used to tell you things.

not important things. just things.

what i ate. where i was. something i noticed on the way home.

somewhere along the way that stopped feeling natural.

i don’t know when.

i just know that now i hesitate.

and that pause says more than i want it to.

there are moments when i still reach for you.

not to talk. just to feel close to something familiar.

like touching a light switch in a dark room even when you know it won’t turn on.

i don’t think we fell out.

i think we drifted.

and i don’t know if drifting is something you notice while it’s happening

or only after you’ve gone far enough to miss the shore.

i hope you’re sleeping well.

i hope the days are kind to you.

i hope someone asks how you are and really waits for the answer.

sometimes i want to tell you i miss you.

not in a way that asks for anything back.

just in the way you miss a season that made sense at the time.

if you ever think of me,

i hope it’s without heaviness.

just a quiet warmth.

like remembering a room you once felt safe in.

that’s all this is.

not a reaching out.

just leaving the door unlocked.

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