I split into several

different mes

after you say it.

Your whispered words

of apology & explanation fall

fast & soft

like wet feathers.

One of me

stands & shakes

you hard enough to hear

your teeth clack. Another

of me hugs you as you sob,

something solid against your shuddering.

One of me already left,

driving hard

to an unknown location.

You stammer about

making everything right

as one of me smokes outside &

taps, beckoning, on the restaurant glass.

I go to join that me,

leave behind

a me who weeps

at your words, or

the silences between them—now

filled with all the things

we should have said.

And I wonder about all

the yous out there wandering around,

& wish for the you I can’t find,

the you who never needed

to meet me here.