Often, in our sessions,
we trade stories, jokes.
You smile and say
it was the fastest hour you’ve had
in a while.
One day, I was awkwardly silent.
At the hour’s end,
I said sorry for not talking today.
And you said “don’t apologize”.
Then, as you left the room,
“Ever”.

Today your phone rang, mid-session.
I said answer it, but you refused,
saying you don’t do that while working.
You put on a brave face,
but I knew you were upset so I insisted.

You left the room and returned within two minutes,
your face red and eyes averted.
I said you need to go home. We are done here today.
You nodded in silence, and went to leave,
but turned around in tears,
telling me some very personal things about your life.

I was embarrassed for you, and, in my awkwardness,
I told you I would never say a thing to anyone.
When you left the room, I got ready to leave.
But you were gone.

This, after seven years of acquaintance.
Our next meeting may be a little uncomfortable.
But, then again, I think not.