Honesty

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.