Back-story on Marie, year 1½

I posted the basics of this story back in late 2015, or thereabouts: see here, here, and here. But there is always more to tell in any story, isn't there? Recently Marie was looking through some of her old poems from back when we were in school together, and she found one she had written then but never showed me. It was about how she perceived all the failed, abortive conversations we had, where she would try to talk about how she was feeling, and looked for me to acknowledge her in some way ... and meanwhile I was strangling on my own inability to discuss anything emotional. (I've talked about some of that difficulty here, and here, and here.)

Anyway, when she sent me this I was struck by how well, how accurately, and with what economy and precision it summed up so many months of our conversations. Also, I think she meant the last line to sound despairing; but looking back from forty years later, I am struck by how prescient she was ... and in a good way!  

Monologue

you say

that you do not know

how one might speak

i say

that sometimes

your muteness hurts me

you say

that sometimes

your muteness hurts you

i say

that i cannot know

what you do not say

you say

that you are alone

and defend your silence

you say

that you sometimes wish

relief of speech

i say

that your silence

denies my speech

you say

that you never wished

to cause me pain

you do not say

that you ever

will will to change

i do not say

that then your wish

is not your will

we do not say

good-bye

we never shall