I return to my cousin's winter wedding for closure. I find the almost relationship waiting instead.

I find you waiting inside my cousin's winter wedding, exactly where memory puts you.

I feel orange peel and candle wax as you turn toward me.

I touch a pearl pin after your fingers leave it.

I hear my own pulse insist that I need a name for us.

I step closer when the couples dance begins and you take another hand.

I ask whether you expected to see me tonight.

I feel your breath change beside the empty coatroom.

I feel the old shape of your hand around my cold fingers.

I learn again that touch can outlive permission.

I ask for the truth of the almost relationship without decoration.

I recognize the careful voice you use before hurting me.

I move a pearl pin between our hands like a boundary.

I hear every reason and search for one choice.

I realize that you introduce me as a friend.

I let the truth land without bargaining.

I carry a pearl pin toward the empty coatroom without looking back.

I feel your hand close gently around my sleeve.

I turn close enough to feel your breath.

I watch you choose whether to close the remaining distance.

I reach for you inside my cousin's winter wedding, but you introduce me as a friend.