Halcyon

Between December and January (Version II)

A/N: Seriously, author. Please shut up. Gotcha, the last poem, I promise, lol.

I wanted to try a story-like version about a love-story. Am I having this story out in as a short novella? Hmm, maybe. Maybe not. Just to be clear, January's Gamble is Her POV, December's is his POV, and between December and January, is where the secrets lie. *sigh and sigh*

Her
It was all fleeting, nothing real—
just transactions of glances,
notes exchanged with intent.
In December, you gave me fragments,
pieces of yourself you never truly meant
to part with.
Flashes of what could have been—
nothing more, nothing less.

I lingered, caught in between
an easy smile, a casual text,
like we both knew what we were doing—
but we both knew we were only
giving pieces of ourselves to keep the game alive.

The air was colder when you spoke,
each word chosen for effect,
as if we were playing to a script we didn't write,
but one we agreed to follow
because it made sense for now,
for just this moment.

You were always the giver,
the one who knew what to say,
yet your hands were always empty
when it came time to actually give.
And still,
I kept reaching, kept waiting—
because every little piece you offered
had my name on it,
and for some broken, stupid reason,
that meant something to me.

But December fades,
its warmth, its flirtations—all gone,
replaced by the frost of January's silence.

Him
I knew from the start this wasn't real.
That everything we shared was
a fleeting transaction.
The way I'd give you just enough
so you wouldn't ask for more,
but never enough to make you think
it was ever mine to give.

I hated myself for leading you on—
but at the same time,
I liked how it made me feel.
I liked the attention,
the thrill of the chase,
the game we played without ever agreeing
to call it anything more.

It was easy, almost too easy,
and I resented how you threw yourself into it,
as if every word I said had a purpose,
as if everything we shared could last forever—
even though I knew better than that.

Your friends teased you—
and part of me felt smug,
but deeper down,
I feared the strings they were pulling
that bound us tighter.
It made me hate myself,
hating the power I had
to keep you coming back for more.
And still, I gave it to you—
one more word, one more lie,
just enough to feed your need
but not enough to feed my own heart.

Her
Every conversation felt like a breadcrumb trail,
each text another step deeper into something
I didn't understand.
I wasn't sure if I was looking for truth,
or just something to fill the empty spaces you left behind
when you pulled back too soon.

I knew you could never truly be mine—
you wore your indifference like armor,
unmoved by every word, every glance.
Yet still, I danced around your silence,
offered myself to the empty spaces between us
because somewhere in those spaces,
I found warmth.

But how foolish it felt when the silence grew.
Your texts became fewer,
your replies monosyllabic,
each word now a transaction of distance,
demanding something from me
I could never satisfy.
I reached,
because all I wanted was to know—
was I still enough to keep you holding on?

The month was slipping away,
and everything between us became fragile,
a string threadbare, barely holding on.

Him
I pulled away—
knowing I had to,
but the weight of it wasn't easy.
With every distance I placed between us,
I felt the hold you had over me,
not with your hands,
but with the way your hope wrapped around my chest.

I didn't want to hurt you,
but I knew it was coming.
I couldn't keep pretending.
Couldn't keep giving these crumbs
to someone who thought there was something more.

What we shared was never meant to last,
just pieces passed along for a while,
until January came,
bringing the quiet I craved.
Still, every time you reached out,
I was the one who left you hanging.

It wasn't that I didn't like you—I did,
but the weight of it became a game
I wasn't ready to play.

Every bit of comfort I gave
was transactional,
like the price of my attention
never truly mattered.

You were someone I could never keep,
but there was something about your persistence
that kept me hooked—
kept me running back for more,
even as I pulled away with the dawn of January.

Her
I can feel it now—the silence
ringing louder than the echoes
of our shared past.
I knew what it was, but I couldn't stop myself—
it was all too much like longing
without knowing what to long for.

In your distance, I saw a game,
one I couldn't win,
but couldn't leave.
You were playing me as I played you—
taking, giving, but never fully present.

And in that tangled mess of want,
I had lost myself too—
craving more than I knew was possible,
still hoping for the pieces you weren't ready to offer.
But deep down, I realize now,
I never stood a chance.

Him
We were always two separate worlds,
glimpses shared through fleeting moments,
each of us giving just enough
to keep the illusion alive.

Now I can only watch
as the distance between us grows,
and wonder if any of it was worth it. If I could feel anything
besides the coldness of January.

But I am where I need to be—in the silence,
and in the distance.