not something, but nothing

I’m calling you because
I could really use a friend.
(Yet I don’t call, and
we don’t speak.)
Was my invitation lost in the mail?
Is this an intentional bruising
with silence?

This – not the first time –
caught in a tangle of loss and longing;
trapped in the hollows where
shadows surround me.
I crumble under the weight of
cancellations, and
one sad history that
was meant for two parts.
I know more people, yet
have less people to call
when I’m dangerously empty.

This opening heart wants
a change of season and
the saddest thing
I can say right now is
not something,
but nothing.