and the train ain't even left the station





what a joke, that even the dictionary definition of this word indicates choice, judgment, control.  that the meaning of the thing has been corrupted to helplessness, a vague shrug with directionless blame- to exculpate ourselves from the weight of incompatible decisions.

it’s not you, it’s the timing you said to me once, running your fingers through your hair distractedly, halfway checked out of the conversation even as you propelled it forward.  as if you were a bus stop slightly behind schedule, or i showed up a little too early for a meeting, as if our lives were two calendars 10 minutes or 10 years out of sync with one another.  maybe sometime in the future.

but we both knew it was never just a trick of the hourglass, an uncontrolled lag between clocks.  timing was a metaphor for the things that could not be said, would never be said-

i do not love you.

you do not love me.