I waited in silence.
Cold air whistled,
raised goosebumps on our arms.
Your eyes finally closed—
dark lashes flickered
as you exhaled.
I leaned down to your ear.
The sleeping bag rustled.
“I love you,”
even though you don’t love me.
You mumbled something back.
I didn’t hear.
I never asked what you said.
I just stared up at the tent.
You’d love me,
maybe,
if I wasn’t a girl.
And I’d tell you,
if you weren’t
the one person
I couldn’t afford to lose.