You didn’t tell me you didn’t want me to go.
I didn’t tell you I wanted you to be there always.
You didn’t tell me I was your everything.
I didn’t tell you you were the only one who mattered. That I wanted to stop looking for others because maybe, maybe you were the one.
You didn’t say, I want you forever.
I didn’t tell you, that I’d changed my life for you. That I’d changed my language for you. That I wanted so desperately to become a part of your life, like the tree that is submerged by a banyan. That I wanted to lose myself in your life.
You didn’t say, you’re the only one that matters.
I didn’t say, maybe for you I could put up a name plate with both our names.
You didn’t say, maybe you wanted a little blonde kid with curly hair and dark brown eyes.
I didn’t say, I love you.
Then you said I love you and I didn’t hear you then you said it again. Again, and again, and again. Until the words sank deep into my skin, leaving a bruise of yellow and purple and green on my upper arm, reminding me of the things that you had left unsaid. The things we had both left unsaid because we are afraid.