It was late,
   but the night gave us a half-chance

   to make goodbye gentle.

You came in 'round eleven—
        I should’ve stood,
                   smiled,
   made the room brighter.

Instead I kept watchin' *whatever* movie—
         you disappeared into your phone,
               two silences side by side
              calling themselves a visit.

You left in thirty minutes.

That’s on me.

I keep replaying
  all the things I didn’t do,
  the light I didn’t turn on.

After, the quiet stretched—
                 no hearts,
            no happy faces,
        just a thin thread
     I didn’t want to pull. (almost)

It’s Sunday now… early,
     Steelers on in Ireland,
     and I’m here with coffee,
     learning patience one breath at a time.

I won’t crowd your morning,
        I’ll keep it small—
        just this truth set down softly:

        I missed the moment, and I’m sorry.

Next time the door opens,
     I’ll meet you with both hands,
                           eyes up,
                        phone down,
                       screens off,
          making the kind of hello
     that knows how to say goodbye
          without closing anything.

Until then—
      I’m here,
      quieter than before,
      hoping for any little sign,
      and promising myself…

      “be ready if it comes.”