wait until spring

we need to talk, she says to you,
while lying in bed staring
at the motionless fan.
we need to have a serious talk.
you shake your head
and say, again.
what, what now? it's us, she says.
it's not working.
your heart sinks.
you know what it's about.
it's always about the same thing.
the falling out of love,
the moving on.
there's someone else better
out there for both of us,
she says smiling, reaching over
to touch your hand.
all givens. all true.
but you're willing to live in
this kind misery for a little while
longer.
it's too cold out to call it quits,
you say out loud.
spring is a better season
for this, trust me. I know.