Broken Spring Robins

Robins are nestled near the roads for warmth, and they flee from my car, slowly, heavily, uncertainly. I'm not used to being up so early. They're not used to being here in the cold.

I slow the car and let them fly clumsily away, comrades. I cannot fault them their confusion.

Deer cross the road, still in their winter coats. I let them pass, looking for stragglers. Trying not to think about what this all means for our earth. For our future. I shake my head and look to the bright sun rising.

Small victories. A strange detachment. Has having no phone brought me closer to some? I wonder who I have been alienated from, in the meantime, but... still. I sit with him, and I have so much to say. We let the awkwardness pass, the newness, and touch doesn't feel forced. I wonder what time will bring us. I accidentally slip a hint of the future, and I wonder at myself.

How do people pick themselves up, over and over again?

I realize, as I drive, that he fucked her. Stupid of me. I remember how he told me he kept to himself when we were apart, and then, the photo, the one of them as a group. Non-assuming. I remember how she was texting him as she drove through his town, and I saw it, and I said, she likes you, and he said, yes. I remember, more than anything, how he made me feel like I was so so small for questioning it. I remember how he scolded me sharply for wanting an answer, for wanting reassurance, and how my eyes welled up with tears. I excused myself for the bathroom, and he said, no, kiss me first.

What horrible manipulations. I want to be angry, but I'm trying to let it out of my mind. I'm trying not to be the woman he destroyed. I'm working to not be a broken person holding these hurts against another.

So I shut it out of my brain, in the rosy purple dawn with lovely deer crossing my path, and I pretend it never happened. Even if I wanted an answer now, he would lie. My gut knows the answer.

I shove it all down, all the fear and anxiety, all the overflowing stupid love that was used against me. I let him use me against myself. I let love be a weapon.

Love, I remind gently, mouthing the words in my simple quiet car. Love is not a weapon.

Strangely, there's one I wish I could share this with, but I've made the choice to leave her behind. Love is not a weapon, but it can be used to hurt. I look into the sun creeping up, turning pink and red and bright on the horizon, and I know he will never be happy. Such as he, he will never be happy.

Such as her, I do hope she will be.

Such as me. I can only pray for the best.