Return on Indifference (Receipts Available)

Seven months of time spent collecting data and putting it into a spreadsheet.\nColumns of words spoken with rows of numbers, a note scribbled off to the side.\nLooking for the return on an investment that never came and never went—\nI’ve been staring at it for so long that my eyes have started to blur.\n\nThe pace of my heart reflected by the blinking of the cursor sitting on the screen.\nI drag my mouse down the column—recounting the tallies—what was the final score?\nWhen I put in the data, I could have sworn that there was this plus a little more.\nClosing in on end-of-day, the clock in the corner still ticking quietly away.\n\nMy hands rest on my desk—I didn’t realize that it was covered in crumbs.\nWhat makes this realization funny is that I can’t tell you when I last ate bread.\nThe only other sound in the room is the water cooler in the corner—a continuous hum.\nMaybe if I sift through my emails one more time, I can find the missing thread.\n\nSomeone once told me that it’s better to stop at something when you’re ahead,\nbut I’ve always been more likely to stop something once it leaves me for dead.\nPatterns that I’ve learned from—some that I swore I would never repeat.\nAnother hour spent, answers evasive, still scrolling in hopes it was a misread.\n\nWhen do we determine that we’ve finalized the last version of a report?\nHow do you explain spreadsheets that continue to come up a little short?\nWith a quiet sigh, my mouse hovers over the option that allows us to export—\ndata, the one thing that I’ve learned in this life that can never be ignored.

Again, I’ve managed to find myself trying to carry a conversation with a wall\nIt’s a different room, with different lights, standing in a completely different spot\nIt’s been so long that this numbness was something that I had finally forgot\nJust circling the sentences with newer syllables— the repetition of unabsorbed thoughts\n\nYou knew the chorus but it seems you’ve forgotten the words to the rest of the song\nI held my breath, standing frozen in place for just a second too long\nMy heart pounding against my ribs— my breathing creating a dramatic rise and fall\nMaybe it’s a misunderstanding or maybe I’m just looking at it wrong\n\nI wasn’t expecting my own voice to echo louder than yours\nOr to realize I’ve been knocking on unopened doors\nIt’s not goodbye—it’s a break from the constant delay\nI’m just tired of chasing answers you won’t give anyway\n\nSo I’ll take some space, not out of anger, just to feel more like myself\nTo sit with all the questions still gathering dust on the shelf\nI’m not expecting answers, or holding you to explain\nJust learning how to loosen my grip on quiet, while something still remains

How many times have we stood in this exact spot?\nHow many times have I claimed that I was just doing it for the plot?\nHow many times have you paused a second too long before speaking your thoughts?\nHow many words should be said before the past is something we forgot?\n\nHow many versions of this moment exist in my mind?\nHow many were kinder, or braver, or perfectly timed?\nHow many ghosts of us linger in spaces we’ve crossed?\nHow many almosts until something is finally lost?\n\nWhispers of words permanently left to play in my head\nI remember all the times you left because you thought we were dead\nHanging on too tightly — the tension of a nearly frayed thread\nIn the silence, the only thing I hear clearly is the never-ending dread.\n\nFlashbacks to the hundreds of nights asleep, tangled in sheets on your bed\nI’m tired of listening for underlying clues in everything you leave unsaid\n“Would you agree that I deserve someone who actively, actually wants me?”\nA question you hesitated to answer — a secret truth that could set us free\n“Yes, if that’s what you wanted.” Honesty wrapped in sudden ambiguity.\n\nI think we’ll still be singing the same song by the time they read my eulogy,\nBlurred boundaries we both learned to speak in too fluently,\nAnd I’m tired of twisting my truth into something said suitably.\nI’m starting to doubt there’s a way for this to end in what I once hoped was unity.\nHow many times do I have to put my sword down for you to choose not to leave?\nCounting the seconds by the soft tic-tic-tic—will we let this blow up, or will we take a risk?

Today I picked up the pen, but then decided that it was time to drop it again\nMy mind lost in thoughts, trying to ground myself while the room around me spins\nIt’s a game both signed up to play but I’m starting to think neither of us could win\nExhaling out of my mouth, air so thick that when I breathe in I could swear I just drank gin\n\nTogether we had carefully started a poem, a new variation to call and response\nFirst I call, then you use word salad to distract from the ticking of the time bomb\nWaiting for the explosion before I realized that there’s no point to all the commotion\nPutting together random syllables coated with a thin layer of blame— a special brand of potion\n\nI pull out the grey rock, awaiting the next chaotic attempt to write a line\nHalf whisper, half croak —“Don’t worry baby, I told you that I’m fine”\nYour view is of importance, but it’s obvious that you don’t feel the same about mine\nA complaint that somehow turned into the court hearing for a suspected crime\n\nSitting at the table with a hand full of cards; maybe I shouldn’t have accepted the gamble\nI’m terrible at math— as an afterthought maybe we should’ve played scrabble\nI signed up for communication, not a middle of the day battle\nWith a sigh of defeat, I stare at my hand as if it were a scalpel\nDissecting the facts until all that’s left of the truth is a small sample\nAwaiting a sentence, sitting on a wooden bench with both hands and feet shackled\nThe binding of a book that’s already finding a way to start to unravel

The shadows always come and go,\nLost between what I do and do not know.\nThe ghosts dancing around the candle’s glow—\nIf you don’t bleed, will you ever grow?\n\nI look toward the sky—a balloon floating away with my hope,\nIts string dangling precariously over branches made of oak.\nIt’s funny what we choose to do to help us cope,\nPast mistakes still haunting, swinging at the end of the rope.\n\nWhen did we learn the only things we can count are money or time?\nThat apathy is framed as power, but showing love is a crime?\nWhere clarity is forgotten because it’s easier when you blur the lines,\nAnd it doesn’t matter who gets hurt—as long as you’re okay, then all is fine.\nThe world will continue to spin—didn’t you know that it’s all by design?\nThe damage gets buried so they can continue polishing a false shine,\nTeetering on the edge of believing they’re free but understanding they’re confined.\n\nAnother sleepless night, examining what’s in front of me and what’s left behind,\nLooking at what’s inside of me and what’s considered normal by mankind,\nAlways searching for a key I don’t think I’ll ever be able to find,\nReminding me that life is just a mixture of chaotic stories that somehow combined—\nAnd we’re all just reading the book word by word, line by line.

I fucked around and stayed long enough for you to leave an imprint in my soul.\nNothing in this life is free—there’s always a price; I just didn’t expect the cost of the toll.\nSitting at a table covered with green felt, eyeing the cards in my hand—do I raise or do I fold?\nStaring at two hearts and praying the next card’s bold;\nThe river could save me—or just leave me out in the cold.\n\nI wait a beat, ensuring I maintain the stoicism that I’ve painted on my face,\nConsidering my options: do I play it safe, or do I go all in—succumb to fate?\nEven silently to myself, I must admit the odds are slim and my chances aren’t great.\nIf I were being honest, this would be a hard bluff, even if I was holding a full straight.\n\nI look straight ahead, using all of my strength to keep you from seeing my shaking hands.\nYou watch me closely as my lungs slowly deflate—pretending not to witness them expand.\nWith a gulp of air and a barely audible sigh, I put the cards on the table and I started to stand:\n“I fold.” An attempt to remain calm—a misguiding narrative that I hoped would land.\n\nEventually, you have to learn that everything doesn’t need to end in fire or giant flames.\nEventually, it no longer matters what, in the end, was a justified place to put the blame.\nSome endings don’t explode—they just dissolve and leave you tame,\nLike whispering goodbye to something you can’t quite name.\nI didn’t storm out screaming, didn’t curse or stake a claim—\nJust left the key and closed the door; no need to play the game.