Painful Silence

We sit here, across from one another

like hundreds of times before,

you with your fried chicken and salad,

me with my heart on my sleeve.

I'm not paying any attention to the food,

because I'm taking notice of US.

I  smile at you and start to tell you

about my day.

You interrupt.

This chicken is really good.  You should try some.

Suddenly my day doesn't seem very important anymore.

So I get quiet.

Silence.

Not that comfortable silence that comes with

twenty-seven years of sharing a life.

But that silence that comes from having absolutely

nothing

to say to one another.

You look at me from across the table,

You should have gotten the chicken.

I just raise my eyebrows in response.

Talking seems like too much of an effort.

So does eating.

I sit here in the silence

as you eat.

I look at other couples around us,

wanting to know if we are the only ones

who sit in uncomfortable silence.

One couple is in the corner, holding hands

looking into each other's eyes,

leaning toward one another over the table

as if it is a huge obstruction.

Were we ever that way?

Another couple is here

with two young kids, and

they are laughing at their antics,

as they make a mess with their food.

Oh yes, I do remember us doing that.

It seems like a lifetime ago.

I see an old couple.

They are sitting across from each other.

And they aren't talking alot.

But they have this connection.

I can see it so clearly.

They anticipate what the other wants,

and help each other before the asking.

They smile a lot.

They seem at peace and happy.

I look across at you.

You're firmly entrenched in your

chicken and salad.

I wonder if you even remember

I'm here.

I'm aching.

My heart needs you to talk to me.

My heart needs a friend.

I don't give a damn what the chicken tastes like.

I don't care if I even eat.

All I care about is feeling

a connection to you.

Anything.

I'm drowning in loneliness

And the sad part is...

You don't even see it.

After twenty-seven years,

You don't see me.