I saw it in your eyes,
Disappointment, hurt, betrayal and something new:
a scapegoat, someone to blame, a reason to declare off the rooftops.

She lost the plot, fell in love with someone else, left thinking that there was a future in that.
You couldn’t phone your parents, friends and any damn acquaintance fast enough. Speed dial. They had to know. Finally, it made sound sense. It wasn’t you, it wasn’t us, it was me.

Me and my stupidity, me and my lack of moral fibre, me and my forever searching for a love story, me not ever being satisfied, me and my unrealistic expectations of marriage.
Me and him.
This freaking cheeseball (“Who poses on Facebook all bulging biceps? Who I ask you? A cheeseball. You threw us away for a fucking cheeseball”) who claimed to love me and declared it lyrically in poems.
(And I, I was a robin soaring on wings of love)

And it made the truth easier, more deliverable, certainly more believable.

It also made it that much harder, when later we tried to reconcile.
Because every person you told looked down at me, judged me.
Look at what the cat dragged in…
(A mouse, a deceitful grey mouse)

All I needed was for you
to shield me,
to cover my weakness,
to hold my
truth
as
I
held
yours.

Copyright HiraethPhoenix 2014