These are not just words

I wish I could tell you the truth. The cold, steel truth. (Do I?) I lie with my head on your small shoulder, the scent of your hair all over my face, and I listen to you talk of your day. I nod my head, I murmur teeny responses, let you know I'm really listening. And I hear it, every time: the heartbreak at the end of your sentences. The rise and fall in your voice--you lull me--and I am almost lost each time, until the end. Then I hear the crash, the pause in your speech, the question finally formed behind your full lips. 
Why? Why? 
And honey, if I told you the truth, I would ruin it for you. Ruin the dream you have in your sweet-scented head. Dreams of true love and blue skies and first kisses and long touches and hope. Ah, I was you, back then. And it was ruined for me.
I cannot ruin it for you. I cannot bear the weight of your broken heart, your heavy hopelessness, if I tell you the truth.... that LOVE isn't always enough, that HOPE is sometimes a hopeless word, that FAITH is unbelievable, that WORDS, these things I have always hung so much on, sometimes don't have the strength to carry it all. 
Instead, I nod my head, return your full-face smiles, kiss your perky little nose, and let you take me by the hand--lead me down your path of full-moon sunshine. I will follow you anywhere, my lips smothering the bitter in my vocabulary. 


Unspoken wishes

Entering the stairwell, I make my way up to the 3rd floor of the parking garage. Eyes down, taking in the smell of damp cement (which reminds me of my grandmother's cellar), I see the sheen of copper-it is upside down. For a brief second, I want to pick it up, and then decide-No, I don't need any more bad luck-and I turn it over, for someone else: an untouched good luck wish from a correct-side-up penny. I make my way to my truck in the garage, thinking of my unwished,unspoken wishes.
I wish I wasn't alone. 
I wish it wasn't so hard to trust.
I wish I wasn't unsure and unsteady in love.
I wish for that romantic-comedy movie love story.
I wish he would touch me-light, fleeting, persistent, insistent-all at once.
I wish someone would ache for me.
I wish I would see things reflected in his eyes, in spite of our fear, our pasts, our unbeaten paths. 
I wish he would sweep me off my feet. 
I wish we could heal together. 
I wish for a day of lazy closeness- body heat, skin, and looks the only things between us. 
I wish for a late night of endless conversation, rambling and incoherent, full of laughs and grand, knowing grins in the dark.
I wish for this feeling of "It feels good knowing you are thinking of me" to never end. 
I wish for shared dreams, new dreams, hopeful wishes, and healed hearts.
I wish for the feeling of giddy silliness with him, that feeling I've only had with my girl the last two years. 
I wish he were wishing about me, thinking about me, dreaming of me, waking up in the middle of the night to look at the alarm clock, counting down the hours until he sees me again.
I wish he would hold me as gently and as close to his chest as he does the tattered image of her. 
When I get to work, I park on the street. Just as I reach the sidewalk, a flash of copper catches my eye-an upturned penny, perfectly balanced on the edge of the curb. 
I pick it up.