Half a promise. Half a plan. One hand holding mine, one hand holding back. Her fingers hooked through mine while the other hand kept tapping out a rhythm on the wheel. Every time I asked where this was going, that smile said the answer might ruin the feel. Maybe sounded almost like yes when it fell from her mouth, and every time I leaned toward leaving we somehow turned around. No fight. No scene. Just her breath against my ear and my good sense missing the light by a second. Never said forever. Never said we’re done. Just enough brake to hold me, never enough road to run. Stoplight, stoplight— keep me on yellow. Stoplight, stoplight— never yes, never no. Caught in the almost, caught in the unknown just enough of us to hurt, never enough to let go. Stoplight, stoplight— every time I reach the red, she reaches for me instead. Stoplight. Stoplight. And I still follow her to bed. Hold— hold— Don’t stay. Don’t go. Stoplight. Stoplight. Keep me on yellow. She knows exactly when I’m slipping, knows the words that make me stay, never gives me what I ask for just enough to look away. Calls after midnight with that soft unfinished tone close enough to sound like longing, careful not to sound like home. I know every reason before it crosses her lips: bad week, wrong time, too much on her mind then her hand finds my hip. Funny how she hates labels but still knows where I belong: not beside her in the daylight, just near enough to keep me on. Never says she loves me. Never says she lied. Just keeps the signal changing every time I choose a side. Stoplight, stoplight— keep me on yellow. Stoplight, stoplight— never yes, never no. Caught in the almost, caught in the unknown just enough of us to hurt, never enough to let go. Stoplight, stoplight— every time I reach the red, she reaches for me instead. Stoplight. Stoplight. And I still follow her to bed. Hold— hold— Don’t stay. Don’t go. Stoplight. Stoplight. Keep me on yellow. I used to think the light would change if I waited in the right place, like patience was a virtue and not another word for waste. But yellow isn’t mercy. It isn’t time to choose. It’s how she keeps me close enough to feel like I could lose. And maybe that’s the worst part— I know exactly what this is. Still, every time she touches me, I let the signal shift. Stoplight, stoplight— kept me on yellow. Stoplight, stoplight— never yes, never no. Caught in the almost, caught in the unknown just enough of us to hurt, never enough to let go. Stoplight, stoplight— every time I reach the red, she reaches for me instead. Stoplight. Stoplight. But tonight I leave the bed. Stoplight, stoplight— let it stay yellow. Stoplight, stoplight— I already know. Hold— hold— Don’t stay. Don’t go. No— I’m done waiting on yellow. She kept me at the stoplight. I left before it changed. Same light. Same street. I’m already past the line.
