There are bullets embedded in my mouth that I have never fired.
All the words I ever meant to say but didn’t,
all the silences that played Russian Roulette with my tongue.
If I could go back and tell you anything, it would be this:
thousands of snowflakes together are responsible
for an avalanche. It was not me and it was not you,
but the combination of us together
that caused things to simply not work out.
When the planets turn in their sleep and the birds find their wings
when the sky dumps its confetti stars
on the small party of night-watchers below,
I’ll let loose the last bullet from between my teeth.
Until the tarnished metal slips into the open,
until the three words I held inside like insects in amber
are revealed. They were not I love you.
Because I never did.