“Someday, I will write about you. Write about your love, your disdain, your confusion, your awkwardness, your moans, your rare smiles, your being.”
But today is not that day. I don’t know if that day will ever come, because that day would signal the day I broke free from your shackles of pity.
I still don’t understand how you can hate someone just as much as you love them. That’s a paradox even Pandora can’t solve.
That day will signal the day I get to say some of the things I never did want to say. How I have come to un-love all that I’ve ever loved.
How your smiles were rare, not because of lack but because of choice. How these choices were prejudiced because of parameters. Who set these parameters?
How it seemed so different on the inside what was on the outside. How I craved the inside more because it showed the bare makings weakness.
This may well be a preamble or maybe that day. Depends on which beans I’ve spilled…
I see you’re married right now, with beautiful kids. I heard you named one after me, just to spite me I guess. I hope your husband doesn’t know we are estranged.
If I had the chance to go back in time, I wouldn’t change anything for even if it did end sour, I did see your true self. Your true self any day.
But can you tell your husband a lie? I know I do my own wife some injustice by allowing you occupy my mind but no, you don’t hold it to ransom no more.
You’re just history locked up somewhere there, history I can always look back to and be grateful for my present.
Indulge me as I tell my beautiful wife a lie, heavens indulge us both as we tell our spouses a lie just so we could meet one more time.
Alas! We meet again, heart says rush over and plant a kiss. Head says, grab a seat, let’s talk about love…
…and how we let it screw us both