lost in the light

Straightforward. Soft and heavy, like morning before the coffee’s started brewing. Like that’s all there is to say.

Through laughter, over a chorus of voices, knowing it’ll strike home anyway. It’s meant for everyone here, after all.

Slipped under your tongue, twisted into something else. “I trust you,” maybe. Trust them to figure it out.

Instead of “thank you” or “see you soon” or “drive safe.” Because no matter what you say it’ll mean the same thing.

Casually, as if you don’t mean it. Trying like hell not to mean it.

Wrapped up in a question. How’s your day been, have you eaten, you know you can tell me anything, right? You know you can tell them anything. Right?

Under your breath while the whole house sleeps, just before you have to leave for the day. More for yourself than for them.

With a hand on their shoulder, a song on your lips, or a carton of their favorite ice cream in the freezer.

Over a nervous smile, biting back the just-this-side-of-desperate hope they’ll say it back.