I’m opening it up and crawling back in.
The wound, I mean.
I can tell, because I thought of you today, and
five minutes later I saw you
on the street,
and I’ve been seeing a therapist,
and this is what I need to do, I know,
I saw you today.
And isn’t that an omen?
Seeing you again makes me wonder
(I did so love you)
about all our unkindnesses –
lies and secrets
and betrayals -
committed in the name of love. Was it love? And
what possessed us? What beast?
Two reasonable people by any other measure -
but there you were, with your need for
adoring masses of women,
and me, compelled to stay
and rail against
and beg for understanding
(I have a wound, don’t you see?)
But what reason does the heart need,
when it comes to such things? When it comes to being seen?
So, I am opening it up. And crawling back in.