The Words I Hid

My Dear Still-Friend,

Oh, the words I could have spoken;

the adjectives I could have used

or the nouns you might not

have forgiven me for employing.

We shared a dream—a dream

we lived as we lay body to

body, beneath the sheets

of Hope and innocent Love.

We were the most eloquent cliché

of two determined hearts.

And I loved you.

I loved you, thinking I could

never drift from the emotions

harboring within my blood.

Your loved boiled it, drove it

through my veins.

You pulled me from my columns

of inexperience and ignorance.

You told me there was no Fear,

only an open mind and an open

heart—no Fear, of the unknown

or of us.

We took it “slow,” although

we considered slow cruising at 80.

And I liked it, I liked the view from

beneath those columns.

Then…you didn’t come.

You left me with a book on my lap

and abandonment anchoring me

to my bedroom floor.

You brought to reality

a dread I never imagined existed.

Instead of running to my side

you stayed,

you played,

and you thought all was swell.

But I hurt,

I glimpsed what my Life

could contain and revolve

around and, for the first time,

I was afraid.

Not of you.

Not of me.

Of us.

You confessed your contentment,

and I admire you; I admire how happy

you were to settle for

what we had together.

Perhaps I am the despicable villain,

rubbing my chin with

scheming fingers and eyes shining.

But if the truth will set you free,

here’s your ticket, your key,

and your two hundred dollars.

Go, still-friend, I release you

from the fraying ties that still remain.

Find a match, an equal.

Think of me in light,

think of me in love,

but then open your hands

and let me go as I do now for you.

It’s not easy, oh nothing could

tear me more in half.

It is Love, however, and that—

above all else—

will heal the rip we now share.

Just take it slow.


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