Small Talk

Awkward silences
fill in the void
between the words we
carefully roll off our tongues
in the forced conversation
that bounces between
small talk and
fantasy. In my mind,
I cover my hand with yours,
trying to trace
“Don’t go”
into your skin,
but in reality,
we sit three feet apart
like acquaintances in films,
like old lovers in novels,
like my mind isn’t consumed
with any and all thought
of your absentminded smile.

And it’s such a paradox
how the flaws that mark your heart
make it all the more
flawless;
it pains me
that you think you’re anything
but perfect.
The lines in my palm
spell out your name
in coffee-stained
assuredness
and I try to forget
that we’re sitting here now
drenched in awkward silences
peppered with
small talk.

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