Too weak to let her go, too weak to let her stay
Emily Kibler
Two weeks
That’s what I told her
Sitting in the passenger seat of her red
car with the belt that crossed my neck
at the wrong spot so I slouched 2 inches
to make it hit right.
14 days
After that, people give up on me
I ignored her empty dissent that she would stay
I had heard those words before
words
words
words
That was all they ever were
Because I’m too much
Always too much
Of what, I don’t know
Too many stories
needs
compulsions
lists
rules
rules
rules
But she broke my rule
15 16 17
At 1 month I wanted to believe
that this was different. And it was.
I knew it as we pushed the armchairs
end to end to make what she called a boat
for streaming sappy Christmas movies
about a baker or barista or some
form of royalty. It was different
when I accidentally drank
from her coffee and for the first
time, I was able to not force myself
to throw it up.
After 2 months, I started counting
the days
61 62 63
without her leaving
94 95 96
she stayed
But I started slipping away
124 125 126 I saw the look
in her eyes as she told him
about her day, and I shoved my hands
deep into my pockets, so she couldn’t see
the wounds my own fingernails
had made. Her eyes, once full
of concern for me, were finally happy
with him, so I hid. The rituals
that were once humiliating
became that again. I stopped
letting her see the way I organized
my pill bottles, first by size then alphabet.
I suppressed my impulses to straighten
every doormat and ran
into public bathrooms to hide my tears.
Because I knew
I knew
I knew
that she was tired of me
How could she not be? I was
tired of me. And I couldn’t escape
154 155 156 but she could
she would
I would have to let her
172 173 174 we stopped hugging
we stopped laughing
we stopped
We were not an us
I thought
she was the exception
I thought
that if she made it through
14 14 14 she was mine forever
But on
212 213 214
she texted him and not me
She laughed with him and not me
Him and not me
Not me.