I Smiled at You

I smiled

at you

today; I couldn’t help

it. That means it’s genuine,

you know. And I can still feel

it in my heart:

warmth.

I felt my heart

and my mind

disconnect.

I looked

at you—

noticed your body.

Your face;

your eyes;

your cheeks;

your smile.

It was all so familiar.

I listened

to you. I heard

the bitterness

that you passed off as a joke.

I heard

the bitterness

that you passed off as a story.

I got defensive

toward the first.

Toward the second

I merely looked through

the façade

and sadly

noted your own miscalculation.

But my heart

stayed still.

Content;

connected;

enjoying

the familiar

companion.

The sense of knowing

and being known.

My heart

wanted to stay—

wanted to bask forever

in what is only momentary

peace

and fragile

safety.

My mind

is ever watching—

ever guarding

my broken,

misguided,

longing

heart.

My mind

broke

the news:

“You cannot

stay here. You are not

truly connected. This moment

will not

last. The façade will drop.

The smile will fade.

And the warmth will turn cold.

It is time to leave.”

My heart

obeyed. She walked away. “But

I can still feel

the warmth,”

she whispers. “It is genuine.”

My mind

must sternly

reply: “It was genuine once,

but what you feel are only remnants—

remnants

of the genuine, and remnants

of my façade.”

“I will always believe,”

my heart

whispers, “Always feel the warmth;

always hope;

always love.”

My mind

gives its final

report: “She is hopeless.”