You told me you’d miss me, in the silence of our sighs.
We’d given up too quickly, when we’ve given much too soon. 
And my mind goes blank, from all the thoughts up in the air.

You leaned towards me, intent to make me stay.
We could have had it all, the radio wailed. 
I let you miss, driven to send you home.

The silence was uncomfortable, but it was welcomed - expected, even.
It was a night for wars, but the lines were never drawn.
We didn’t even curse, you didn’t even cry.

This is what we have, at least for now.
Or in retrospect, this has always been.
Of half-hearted poetry, I leave you ill-conceived rhymes. 

In the silence of our sighs, we knew we were headed for goodbyes.