Love is a Common Subject

I talk to her most weeks and she said nothing. Months went by and not a word. Maybe she knew what I thought of him; wretched, snobby, boring, and be anything but boring. But relationships came up, love is a common subject, and still nothing. I told her about girl after girl, worry after worry, the joys and foibles. And still she said things were fine, things were fine, things were fine, as things unraveled around her. Holding the threads up to her shivering body, hoping she could count the thing as saved. Maybe she only needed the time for herself, to get to a place where she could let them fall. Because now, I bring it up, and she speaks to me as if it almost never happened at all.