On The Verge of Tears

I arrived at the station

having not seen you in a while

never expecting the orange in your hair

you were beautiful, I was happy to be there

For three weeks I crashed in your flat

in London while you still went to class

But at night we hung out with your room mates

over bottles of red wine and laughs

one evening, I remember, we walked on the river

and stopped now and then for a candid picture

but you were strangely not yourself

and the photo, later, proved your uncomfortablness

it was a few years later

in your apartment in Philadelphia

that you finally revealed to me

what had been bothering you all along

you had been with someone else that year

you never really had to tell me

and it was the beginning of the long tearful end

but I can’t blame anyone, I was happy to be there.

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