Monday, May 21, 2007

True Love Stories

It had been two years since I'd been forced.
Two years since I’d let anyone close to me.
He seemed to understand.
He seemed to care.
Especially when we fucked
and he told me that he loved me.

But when I found out that he'd lied,
That he'd lied about everything,
That he'd been married all along,
I felt betrayed

I found his wife and called her
To say I was sorry.
She said she was sorry too.
Later, she left him.
I was glad she left before he got sick,
Before his lies made her sick too.

Lies can be a tricky thing. You have to plan ahead, prepare for contingencies, and commit. He should have picked a different lie.

The ex-girlfriend, a baby, and a sense of responsibility story was ill-conceived. It probably seemed to be the perfect way out. He could keep his status as a good guy and dump me without an ugly rejection scene. Too bad he couldn't pull it off. He was a crappy liar. He also changed his mind and wanted to come back. That's not the kind of lie you can undo.

I deserved something believable. He could have said he had a gambling problem or he was tired of the long-distance thing. Maybe it would have hurt less if he had told me the truth. Yes, the truth.

The Truth: he didn’t want me anymore. Hell, I figured it out anyway.


There was nothing extraordinary about him
Except the way he loved me.
He did it well,
Very well.
Not how I wanted, but how I needed.
And I adored him for it.

He said he loved everything,
Touching my soft belly
as much as my soft curls,
Smiling at my awkward shyness
as much as my graceful wit,
Listening to my self-involved passions
as much as my hours of silence.
He loved being with me,
Just me.

But it wasn't long before something changed.
Bad timing?
Too many flaws?
A twisted game?
I didn't understand, at least not then.
He said he loved me too much.
Then, he pushed me away.

Wednesday, May 09, 2007

I Hate Myself In Your Eyes

(This is a re-posting from January 2006. I’ve been trying to write something funny and cute, but I think I’m using all my funny-cuteness trying to survive in the non-blog world.)

Even though I knew it was bound to end badly, a little part of me was flattered and curious. I should have listened to my conscience, but when I heard her story and felt her longing, it broke my heart to think of disappointing her. Against my better judgment, I heard myself cheerfully say, "Yes, I’d love to". The thin lilt in my voice might have seemed transparent to anyone who wasn’t in pain.

She was a victim of a long-term relationship that ended in betrayal. Tossed to the curb, scratching and clawing with a willingness to do anything to be welcomed back home. When she found me, she pretended to be whole. I pretended to believe her as I watched her crawl across the floor in a desperate effort to collect the scattered bits of herself. I should have helped her, but I lacked the courage. I told myself I had something in my eye.

After four dates, she told me that she loved me. I didn’t know what to say, but as I studied her face I saw things that repulsed me. The most honest response I could muster was a smile of genuine pity. I drew her close to me so I didn’t have to see her eyes any more. I hated that her abject loneliness made her say such things when I never gave her anything worth loving.

She accepted scraps from me, all the while desperately dancing around my feet begging for more. I listened to her anguish and accepted her gifts and affection, more from my own guilt than any real interest. The longer it went on, the worse I felt. I became cold and hard toward her vulnerability, a stranger to myself. My emotional withdrawal only increased her efforts to please me.

I was relieved when she said she just wanted to be friends. A stone was lifted and I felt free for the first time in what seemed like forever. In that moment of farewell, she became lovely and beautiful for the first time. She no longer reflected the frail and destitute parts of myself that I despise