Two Rivers

As we lie in bed, your head resting on my shoulder, I feel the warmth of a tear track down your cheek. Brushing a lock of hair from your face, I whisper, What is it? It’s nothing, you reply, drunk with sleep, My allergies, and you turn away. I lie here into the pitch black hours before the dawn, recalling my own tears in the night with no words of explanation to you, and wonder why these small rivulets can’t merge into a common stream before they split away and carry us to faraway opposite shores.