How can I know you love me not?
Is it in your touch?
Your voice?
Your stare?

Is it in the things you do not do?
The absence in presence?
The routines that hide the disregard?

Let us chat about the weather, my dear.
Let us not say more than what has
to be said for civility, for breaking
the coldness of silence,
as the words hang heavy and light.

How can I know you love me not?
I am counting the ways.

A response to Elizabeth Barrett Browning

 

27/7/2024