NEPHART.COM

They call me cheesy.

Maybe.

I don’t pour myself on people.

I learned early

how spillage gets punished.

I know how to flirt.

Properly.

Timing.

Silence.

The look that stops just short of a promise.

I also learned the price.

So I queue.

I stay in my lane.

I don’t take what isn’t handed to me.

That’s not innocence.

That’s restraint with a memory.

Sometimes I imagine

a quiet university

where hearts are books

and no one lies in the margins.

You read slowly.

You don’t tear pages.

Then the bell rings.

The world returns.

I still want.

I just don’t reach.

Some days

that feels like dignity.

Some days

it feels like grief.