I tried to prepare for it.
Reading self-help articles online
about difficult conversations.
But nothing could help me
get ready for this.
The words create themselves
at the end of a friendship.
10 years down the drain,
she said several times
during this chat over latte and iced tea
in a coffeehouse we knew so well
in brighter times.
She never said it,
but she can’t let go of who we were—
comparing notes after movies,
gossiping about work,
parsing current events.
But I can’t forgive her
for not being able
to go beneath the fun, easy surface
and be there
when things got hard for me.
So we sit and talk
going over and over what went wrong
but getting nowhere.
I’ve outgrown her.
She can’t move on.
Finally,
a glance at my watch
says I have to go,
saving me from having to say
another word.