To be kind
“I know how you feel”, she said.
“I know what it’s like”, she went on
like some authority of the subject instead of the perpetrator.
She spoke with a distance that felt more like a character than a person
but without a trace of acting.
“If you’re having such a hard time with this,
maybe we shouldn’t talk for awhile”
she said so matter of factly she could have come to a more
sincere conclusion about the weather.
I have been reeling for months
thinking about the years of my life wasted,
the hours I spent preparing in thoughts and wicked glances
for a night that would amount to so much less
and result in such damage
I could spent the rest of my life trying to write out
without ever coming close to being rid of.
How long does it take to learn from a mistake
that’s become a living
like a butterfly from a caterpillar?
I can’t begin to imagine that kind of change
as long as I remember the way you looked at me in bed,
running a finger across my chin
and kissing without a single break.
Inside you, I found a sort of redemption,
all this time I waited and here
I had finally made you feel something.
It wasn’t love that was reciprocated, but it was as close as I’d ever come.
