by Nathalie Brault
I wonder what she was thinking
when she said I was the one and
she would never leave me, when
we both knew her condition, the fact that
she was unable to make any commitment
of any kind to anybody – making promises
she could not keep – but then
no one would have guessed that
all this time we spent together,
the moments we shared, the melding
of our bodies when I stayed the night, the hours
she spent making sure I was satisfied
and told me how much she craved
my body, were just an illusion,
moments of bliss spent with Dr. Jekyll in the dark
now forgotten, as I wake up with Mr. Hyde,
telling me that it was all my fault, that
I wasn’t ready to commit or to let her in, that
she was ready to accept my shortcomings, and that
I should have been able to see beyond
the money situation, the family history,
and the little lies – creepy little suckers –
about the other woman – there was always another –
which she blithely denied, and I
would get sick to my stomach just thinking about it:
the nights you must have spent together,
the moments you shared,
her skin against yours
as you forget the promises you’d made,
piling up
more lies,
tearing up
my heart,
leaving me
hurt,
worn,
but – not that you care anymore –
not dead
you see, because somewhere along the way I realized that
there is life
beyond this tunnel you crammed me into,
there are people
out there who care and who would have never
let that happen to me, people
who don’t live off other human beings,
who don’t suck off your blood and leave you to die,
trampling upon every dream you’ve ever had of
finding your other half; there is life
after us caressing each other hands,
eyes locked into each other’s
as the waitress clears the table,
my arms around the small of your back
as we stroll with the bottom of our pants rolled up,
gazing at the Atlantic,
after the smell of sweet potatoes
coming out of your kitchen as I cozy up
on your ridiculously small couch, waiting
for you to sit next to me, you see
it all keeps coming back to me,
whatever I do, whoever I see
I can’t seem to put any of this behind me
and I hang on, I hold on
to the warm smile of a stranger
over my stand, the knowing look of another
survivor who won’t ask and won’t tell
and somehow manages to pretend that
nothing happened, that it’s all the same
before and after, when everyone knows only too well
that it’s never the same – it can never be –
after.