It didn't happen

I called tonight to tell you.
But I can't lead with this
so I asked about your day.

And then, when I thought
I would tell you what happened,
I wondered what I expected you to say.

How would this go?
How could this go anything but awkward?
What could you possibly say to make this okay?

So the syllables tripped in my throat
and the words painted pictures in my memory
to sad to feel again,
to broken to put together
in a description for you,
so you could wonder
what to say,
to me.

I didn't tell you.
And I won't.
And I will swallow the sounds of the letters
that make the words
of my memory.

And tomorrow
I will go on
as if this
didn't
happen.