Letter to a Friend
I love her and I told her that.
He's playing a game that would lacerate you,
a game that would scar you.
But I see it already has. You know that it already has.
It was a laceration six years in the making,
each year gouging it deeper and deeper
till you bled fountains that
you never knew could exist.
Yet you hold on to him,
to the idea of him, to all that he represents.
I looked away and studied the coffee cup in front of me.
How do we tell the difference between love and
desperation?
I struggle to understand that both run on passion,
a fuel as destructive as cyanide
in your afternoon tea.
Perhaps you are meant to fall,
perhaps you are meant to bleed rivers, oceans.
Perhaps I am meant to watch you fall,
perhaps he is meant to destroy you, tear you.
And then, perhaps, after the hurricane,
I am meant to pick you up from the wreckage, hold you,
and tell you
that I love you
again.
He's playing a game that would lacerate you,
a game that would scar you.
But I see it already has. You know that it already has.
It was a laceration six years in the making,
each year gouging it deeper and deeper
till you bled fountains that
you never knew could exist.
Yet you hold on to him,
to the idea of him, to all that he represents.
I looked away and studied the coffee cup in front of me.
How do we tell the difference between love and
desperation?
I struggle to understand that both run on passion,
a fuel as destructive as cyanide
in your afternoon tea.
Perhaps you are meant to fall,
perhaps you are meant to bleed rivers, oceans.
Perhaps I am meant to watch you fall,
perhaps he is meant to destroy you, tear you.
And then, perhaps, after the hurricane,
I am meant to pick you up from the wreckage, hold you,
and tell you
that I love you
again.