when i got there, she didn't warm me
because she couldn't,
or because i wouldn't let her.
one or the other.

i pretended to be a house: white, with cold bay windows,
all of the rooms empty and looking for something,
bare hardwood floors covered in dust.

so she asked, is anything wrong?
and i couldn't speak, afraid to tell the truth;
i am nothing if not practical, not a liar,
just not always truthful.
maybe it's one or the other. maybe both.