In Possible

I fell in love in a day's time, and ended it just the same.

At dawn, we met and, promptly thereafter, began holding hands without asking.
At noon, we married and laughed at our parents commenting on "our marvelous unity."
At dusk, I grew tired and you--restless. Separated. Among other trifles.
At moonlight, I died in my fatigue, and your weariness drove you to some distant pursuit that I was not alive to acknowledge and congratulate.

If only you were aware.
If only you thought of these happenings
as I did.

But you are.
You are, and have (always) been,
unaware.
As if what we had, and the marriage, and the suburbs, and the kids, and the divorce, and the despair,
was all in the faintest horizon of the past, far beyond our reach, never to be remembered, at times to be repressed.

As if we're friends.
As if we've (always just) been friends.