A cynical look at relationships. |
He made me promise to tell the truth even when the truth is shy and ugly. Digits crossed behind my back I gave him my word. Perhaps he saw my abnegation but he did not mention it. It was a promise he would never keep himself. And sometimes that is the way of it. The truth a recluse when she would only wound and tear. On days when need causes the most foolhardy questions. “Am I as beautiful as she? Am I as good as she was? Do you love me more than her?” He’d always say yes with imaginary fingers crossed. I could see in his eyes that I could never compare to her wild hair and gentle heart. She had been his dream… he thought I wouldn’t understand that he wanted no part of fanstasies. That her beauty made him jealous, her goodness made him weak and his love made him someone else. With me… imperfect, slightly fleshy and strange… he could be himself. He could live in the real world, avoid the temptation of defending her honor (which really was his own), and be the man he’d always imagined… staid, practical and strong. Yes. I understand for I have dreamed once too. I loved beyond all reckoning and ate up passion in my sleep. When he asks me those same questions I also tell the harmless lie. He is perfectly what I want; his weakness gives me strength, his simplicity makes me safe and all of this does not threaten my thoughts of me. And though the truth will never know us, in these sentimental ways, the life we live together will not haunt us with silly dreams. |