If it even happens, we’ll sit in silence, my tongue numb in my mouth, and yours locked away in the same place you keep your heart secret and safe, and in the end we’ll just get up and leave.
Or maybe we’ll confess our sins, and there will be tears but we’ll feel better about things. Everything will be different, nothing will be the same, but at least we’ll feel better.
Or unlikeliest of all, we’ll talk and see eye-to-eye, and we’ll smile and laugh, and our hands will touch, and in time so will our lips.
But I doubt it.
I’ve spent my life torturing myself with imagined words. Why stop now?