Maybe if I wasn’t afraid I could have told her I missed her over lunch, my pancakes splattered across the table as she told me all of her stories. Maybe I could have brought myself to say I love you to her wrinkled eyes and not just continued to stare silently at the galaxies of freckles that reside above her lips as she shared story after story. Maybe I would have told her why I didn’t say I love you back that day, 8 AM. and the sun rising as it tried to catch my shadow in its blistered palms as I ran away from her, again.
Maybe I could have told her I cared because lately she’s been leaving me alone.
I love you might be too late.