Quietly in the office, my mind
does laps around the words you said,
still say somedays. I know
I’m prone to hem and haw
over the hims and hers I’ve lost
over time, but you are different.
My lips like magnets matched when
my tongue wags and thrashes, trying
to spit your name. No one is let
to hear it. A secret I must keep
for now or until I am allowed
to either whisper or shout it out
loud. The heart feels and the mind
plays reels of film from the past
all day, night it might frighten or
delight you to know but rest easy—
your name will stay locked
in place until the day my body, mind
are ready to give you away.

Shelby Pack (she/her) is a content writer and poet from South Carolina. She is also the co-editor of Lackadaisy Literary Magazine. Her work has been published in Eunoia Review and Maudlin House.