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He and she are one. Their eyes form secret circles in abstract space, with the air between them thick; opaque; caught up in the binding that it makes. Tethers run throughout, holding always always two.

Two and one make three.

I held a place inside of him, and he inside of me, and now I miss. Oh, but how I miss.

He and she are one, and this is an insidious sadness, building up inside of me. It is a lonely, subtle feeling of regret that runs and seeps, and I feel it: heavy, but not crippling. This is not devastation. This is not a suicidal longing. This is not my dream of loss.

This is the knowledge that he, in she, has found someone else to talk to.

He has found someone else to talk to, and now I’ve got to go.

This was the look in his eyes last night as we talked, where I saw a vacancy that was only his new completeness. I’d never seen him so happy before. This was no rejection; this was only an evolution, and I am happy for him as he will never know. This was the feeling, walking away, that my welcome, while still intact, will never lead me to his heart again, and that our conversation must re-ascend to the surface of his life, the surface where he keeps us all. All of us but one.

A lover has replaced a companion.

While his friend forever, while his eyes are still attentive and his mouth still speaks his feelings, I know: this is the end of our song. The end of the time when he and I make we. His eyes are forming circles, curves that begin and end with she. Circles are closed forms though. I cannot break inside them, and in the end I would not want to. He and she are one.

And now I’ve got to go.