Perspective

His name.
Hurts.
You call upon him
Like it means so much more than
Five odd letters strung
To make two syllables.
You speak
But do you hear
The deafening drums of
My heart;
The pulsating push of
Feet in a shoe
So tight that every point
Of contact
Hurts.
Then I choose.
A silent heart and new shoes.
It’s how distance is born.

- When you choose to be friends with ‘him’