The police knew me.
That’s the part I couldn’t understand.
My name.
Where I worked.
What I drove.
Where I lived.
Only one person knew enough
to give them that.
You.
I called you until my phone died.
I needed you to tell me
there had been a mistake.
I needed you to say
you panicked.
I needed anything,
a simple word that’d keep the flame of our love alive.
But you wouldn’t answer.
And for the first time
since I met you,
I understood.
Maybe I didn’t know you.











