no hellos

I don’t want to know whether you take your coffee with milk, or whether you prefer it with sugar. I don’t want to know whether your mind runs smoothest under the rising sun, or whether you come alive at night; become electric as the world falls asleep. I don’t want to know about the small town you grew up in, I don’t want to know about your older brother and I don’t want to know about your younger sister — I don’t want to know about the way you love them so unconditionally, how they drive you to be the best possible version of yourself.

I don’t want to know, because I understand what it means to know these things. And I’m not ready — not yet, at least — for all that comes with it.

Now that I think about it, I guess that’s why I didn’t say hello – to erase the possibility, the inevitability of ever having to say goodbye. And I could tell, just by looking at you, from all the way over there in the corner — that saying goodbye to you wasn’t something I’d want to do. Not now, not all over again, not with you.