I bring my whole heart to the lake house in October. I leave the almost relationship behind.

I enter the lake house in October and my body recognizes you first.

I breathe in woodsmoke caught in my hair and lose the sentence I practiced.

I watch you hold a smooth black stone from the life we almost kept.

I know this meeting matters because I need a name for us.

I let it happen when a hidden letter falls from beneath the floorboards.

I say your name and watch your shoulders soften.

I notice your answer arrive in your hands before your mouth.

I remember how quietly you once learned my body.

I feel warmth become evidence without becoming an answer.

I name the almost relationship before hope can rename it.

I hear you begin with my favorite version of my name.

I let a smooth black stone hold the warmth I cannot.

I let your explanation finish without rescuing it.

I finally hear that you introduce me as a friend.

I keep my face still while my chest loses its balance.

I reach the narrow dock before my composure does.

I stop when you say there is one truth left.

I face you with only one handspan between us.

I wait for the sentence that could change the meaning of tonight.

I reach for you inside the lake house in October, but you introduce me as a friend.