I’m beginning to think
You told me a softer version
Of what she was.
You said it wasn’t special.
That you appreciated her,
But that was all.
That you didn’t love her,
That she gave you the ick,
That you stayed because you were lonely,
Or afraid of what she might say.
But then I found your words.
And your poems
Tell a different story.
A year together.
Beautiful things said about her.
Intimate things.
Your “pajarita.”
A love that sounded
Like it was teaching you
How to love again.
A relationship that sounded
Like it meant something.
And now I don’t know
Which version of you to believe.
Maybe you did end it
Because you knew she wasn’t the one.
Maybe your feelings for me
Were as strong as you say,
Even while you were with her.
But I don’t think
You were as honest with me
About what she meant to you
As you could have been.
And that’s what hurts.
Not that you had a past.
Not even that you loved her.
It’s that you let me believe
there was almost nothing to mourn.
You asked me to help choose
The poems you’d read at your workshop,
And I didn’t even know
I was helping you choose
Words you’d once written for her.
I didn’t even know,
Because you told me you never
Wrote for her.
That you only lied and told her
Some poems were about her
Because you never truly loved her.
It never crossed my mind
That I might be helping you choose
Words that belonged to her.
I gave you my opinion.
Told you my favorite ones,
For the world to hear.
And somewhere,
She may have seen them
And known exactly what they were.
I feel stupid.
Then you reached out to her
For “closure,”
And I was left with only
The version of that conversation
You told me.
You thanked her
For making you a better man.
For being part of your family.
For everything you shared.
And now that I know
It was more meaningful
Than you let me believe,
I can’t help wondering
What else was said.
Because I don’t know.
What else have I been told
Only halfway?
My mind keeps filling
The spaces you left blank.
You made me feel
Like it had always been me.
Like what you felt for me
Was so strong.
That everything before me,
Barely mattered.
But maybe it wasn’t that simple.
Maybe she was special.
Maybe you were actually in love with her.
I don’t know.
And that’s the part
That is breaking me,
Not knowing what was real.
Because I can accept your past.
I can accept that you loved someone
Before you loved me.
What I don’t know how to accept
Is feeling like you rewrote that past
So I could feel like
I was always the one.
And now I am left
Standing between your words
And your poems,
Trying to figure out
Which one is telling me the truth.
Trying to figure out
Which parts of your past are finished
And which parts are still alive inside of you.
You love me.
I believe that.
I just wish
You had trusted me enough
To tell me the truth
About what came before me.
I would rather
Have loved you
Knowing she mattered
Than love you now
Wondering what else
You made smaller
Just so I wouldn’t be hurt.
