Silence

Words, for me, come easy,

So many and yet, not a single thing said.

You ask me if I love you, or something

very close to that.

How would I know? I’m not even sure

What that is.

I wake up and I think about you.

I have my coffee and I think about you.

I leave for work and I think about you.

Always thinking—about you.

I drive home and I think about you.

I take shower and I think about you.

I lie in bed and I think about you.

Always thinking—about you.

Is that love or is that obsession?

And is there a difference in the two?

I ask you and you remain silent.

You ask me and I talk for days.

Each, in our own ways, avoiding answers.