I carry a satin ribbon into the empty rehearsal studio. I leave knowing what the one who got away costs me.

I hear your laugh cross the empty rehearsal studio before I see you.

I carry resin and sweat in the air between us when our eyes meet.

I see a satin ribbon resting in your palm.

I understand that I need to know whether we still exist.

I remain beside you as the music starts with the dance you promised me.

I ask the smallest question with the largest history.

I see your fingers tighten around a satin ribbon.

I remember your thumb tracing calm into my wrist.

I resent the body for keeping what the future refused.

I place the one who got away between us and ask you not to soften it.

I watch apology gather behind your teeth.

I touch a satin ribbon to keep my hands from reaching for you.

I follow your words until they reach what you decided.

I understand the wound when you kept my old letter unopened.

I breathe through the second that rearranges us.

I move toward the mirrored corridor because the room has become too small.

I freeze as your palm finds the center of my back.

I let our foreheads nearly touch.

I hold still while your final words gather.

I reach for you inside the empty rehearsal studio, but you kept my old letter unopened.