Brush

I rarely ask anything of anyone
So I ask her to come
She doesn’t know why
And I say to her
It’s not like you chose not to
Some process of evaluation in the face of experience
You come to a moment far beyond the event
And you realise
You just can’t any-more
She stares at me
Then very quietly
Low and even
– You don’t really believe that.
— No, I don’t.
And I doubt everything
Even what ties us to together
That perhaps we’re not tied together at all
— That’s the point. It doesn’t matter whether I believe it or not.
After that
We don’t know what to say
So we don’t say anything