Not the Only One

He was busy having a beer

and couldn't talk about us. I said 

"maybe later then" and he said "sure." 

One word text glaring at me.

I knew I couldn't live with it. 

His vacant words: emotionless, 

safe; words that would inflame 

my normally placid ways.

Driving through two hours of traffic;

pulsing, blinding pain traveling 

the curve of my skull, landing at 

either temple, and all he could say 

was "sure." I could have said, I'm 

dying on the side of the road,

can you call me? And he would 

have said, "sure." There was no, 

"I'll call you soon" or "feel better."

Just a few simple, unfeigned words

that would so easily soothe, let me 

know I was not alone in the pain; 

that he cares. But his single-syllable 

replies left me angered inside, and too, 

defeated, as I accepted finally that

his capacity to care for others is 

greatly diminished by his own pain,

so, at least, he did let me know
"You're not the only one."