Daniel B. Silver



 It’s lunch time on a Tuesday and we wait for Vietnamese food
At the table, the friend asks if I am over her, by saying, “You aren’t still holding out hope are you?”
And while I say, “No, that’s done with,” it’s not what my eyes express
Behind those globes of aqueous humor and vasculature the true tale hides
Embarrassed to find its way past the tip of my equally vascular tongue
I tell her what I know she will probably approve of: it’s been long enough and I’m living in relative Zen
Yes, it’s a lie, and I recognize that I should no longer tell such falsities
But I say that seeing the love of my life happy, thriving and carefree
Is just as good as waking up with her body wrapped around me
You can probably figure out that she doesn’t believe me, this astute friend
In the moment – however – she placates, nods and smiles
Then she breaks eye contact, and stares at the table for a moment
But hides emotion enough to keep the social contract intact at the time
The friend asks what happened to that place I was going to buy in Oakland
And for a moment I think that maybe I’ll just, again, lie
It’s not like that’s a stretch for me; I’m pretty much a black belt in it
But the truth flies out and I have no clue as to why
I tell her that I dropped out of the deal when my perfect peach left me
I tell her the place was for both of us, and it was to be a surprise
When I made the offer, I knew it was about time that I put up or shut up
And I knew our new life had to start in a place that first felt like mine
It’s true I meant some of what I said about how happy I’ll be to see that girl thrive
I know it’ll be with someone else, and I have grown to begrudgingly accept that
I guess our timing was off from the get-go; we never synched up
But I’ll never give up hope; I’ll never get over her –
I admit that part was a lie