I have stopped talking about
this ten-year-old truth.
Gone are the hours
I could all but
hold myself back
from unleashing the passion
in drunken conversations
over coffee shop tables
and vodka shot-topped bars
with anyone who’d
care to listen.
No, I don’t talk about
that man anymore.
It just hurts too much.
I’ve memorized
all their reactions
their doubt-riddled sympathy
all the verbal avenues
their concern would take
all the forking ramifications
of appeals to logic
that they use to try
to mangle the grip
this tired and old and
broken love had
(still has)
around my life.
I’ve heard them all
so many times
and they all make sense
but all they do
is tear at my heart
and kill me
and make me cry.

None of them
has ever succeeded
in changing my mind.

So I bury this
silent truth
in the haunted graveyard
of my thoughts
and just carry it mutely
as my personal cross.