we showed signs and made shapes almost every day for a year
Except for those weeks I was lying in bed
Not mine but the hospitals
That time when the signs just weren’t enough
It was bright when I returned
and ran straight to the window
He was sat by his, with his head on the glass
A bouquet of flowers resting on the ledge
Silently wilting
I let him sleep
But left him a sign
“I’m back, I hope they are mine.”
When I woke the next day
He was approaching with speed
“Of course…” said his sign, “who else’s would they be?”
He told me to wait
Because he was taking my turn
Where his words came out slow
But he was making me learn
about how while I was gone
He had swam the distance between us
Pulled by the gazes that were moments too long
And in a literal sense
Through the small pond that separated our houses
In the dark of the night
After days of waiting
For my light
He was turning the pages fast
And maybe it was the leaves in the wind
The way they danced in the air
But it seemed like his frame was shaking
He said he slept by his window
For days on end
All the while thinking how he could tell me
That he had notebooks filled with what could have been said
What could have been done
If we had stepped out sooner
And into the sun
light
there was suddenly one behind his head
beaming straight through him and into me
I thought it was a sign
A grand gesture
This is how we would meet
He suddenly dropped the book
And yelled he was done
I thought this was it, the time had finally come
He used the approaching light to show me one last sign
A shaking little heart
Before his room went dark.
little wave 