Dishonesty

I am fascinated by the fact that you believe dishonesty will make me feel better. As if these lies will somehow sugarcoat the toxins they are forcing down my throat.

“I don’t want to do this, but I have to. You would end up being a young widow. Don’t make this harder than this is. Saying this is making me sick.”

As if these lies will prevent scarring. Don’t you dare walk away from me. II was your lifeline, your best friend, your lover, your confidant. And the night when I came home and you were washing dishes shirtless with your sweatpants riding low on your skinny hips. And I kissed your tattoos and you told me to check my bedroom. My laundry neatly folded and put away, bed made, rose sitting in a coffee mug on my desk. I have never been so in love.

Holding me when the panic came, when I couldn’t stop crying. When we named our children. The bear you planned to skin to make a rug for our house- I laughed. Our future dog, Ox. The mixed CDs- I still have them.
When you told me you had dreamed of our wedding day. The afternoon you proposed as we woke up from a nap in your bed. Too poor for a diamond, you offered me your class ring. And the next weekend, when you fell asleep drunk on the couch, exhausted. I just kept waking you and you kept saying, “Will you marry me? Marry me, baby.”
I remember coming home to you standing in my kitchen in uniform. I jumped and wrapped my legs around you and never wanted to let you go. I wish I had never let you go.

Months ago you messaged me after almost a year. You wanted to keep your promise. Kept me updated. Apologizing, saying I didn’t have to forgive you. That you were going to help a lot of people one day. I know you will. You didn’t think I would share with you what was going on in my life. I did.

The first time you stayed over, you handed me your dog tags. “As long as you have these, I will always come home to you.”

You didn’t come home.