Nine

I never imagined that my salvage would turn out this way.
I never foresaw that the last photograph of me he would ever see
would illustrate for him not only a single pair of eyes but two.
The shaking of the hands that held the envelope
and the kiss planted atop its seal told me I was sorry,
but I never felt even a sliver of regret in my heart.
How could I when I was spared the sight of his pain?
Or was it rather that he was always incapable of feeling?
It was the strength in me. I was selfish when I broke him,
like he broke me, only quicker and with fewer stings.
And I remain selfish as the very words that I will
use to tell this story infect its pages with bias.
Because this time, I need to be selfish.
Lacking that flaw is a flaw itself, and I have
accepted the realization that it’s been alive
for a while. Before that night in Manhattan,
before the swallow pendent,
and before any of the thin
nine letters.

Ava
Her Anchor
Her Innocent

[soundtrack]

Warning: Mature content.