9-22

I wonder if I'll ever stop missing you.

Missing what? I want to shake my shoulders.

Who are you? Who are you now, for her? I hear stories of who you were for the doe-eyed poet, and I don't recognize you in them. Are you someone else now, and do you like that person better? Are you a good man who prays at night and loves his mother and has asked forgiveness for all his sins?

For how long?

You run and run but you still find yourself looking in the mirror at the end of the day.

I miss who you were for me. I thought that was you, but maybe I was wrong? And I'm wrong. I miss who you were when you felt like it. When you kissed me honestly and I felt loved. When you wanted to hear me talk. When you drove out late and spent the night and drove out early just so you could see me for a little while and lay beside me.

Was that you, or did you simply know I was looking for a man who would drive out to lay beside me? Who walks barefoot and tries all the beer and makes silly songs and jokes and loves his cats and sitting outside in the grass. How could you lie to me about who you were and be everything I wanted, when I didn't know it all until I met you?

My brain spins. Who was I, and who were you, and what were we? Why do I feel empty now when all you did beside me was take from me? Who are you and who is she? Why was I not enough, when you sapped me of everything I had? What will she give you? Will she make you a good man?

I lie awake in the dark and my body burns hot with missing you and missing your touch and your smell, but I remember that those hands were touching others and I shudder to think that they meant something to me.

Time will cool my body. Time will heal my mind. It slows, from time to time, and I forget to mourn you, whoever you are. I remember that I was and am whole, and you never will be. I flood with rage and then sadness, and I hope she breaks your selfish heart into small jagged pieces and you understand what your thoughtless way of handling me did because you feel it just as deeply.

I lay my hand on my chest and I feel my warmth and the curve of my breast and the strong heart that beats underneath the skin and interlaced bones and I know I can only be patient and wait to forget the feeling of your hands and lips and the sound of your laugh and I pull the betrayal around me as protection. I will wait, and you will fade, and I will survive in this cocoon of reminders.

Will I stop missing you?