Honestly

She said to me,  “I love you, don’t you see? My mind floats back to you, but you’ll never be the dream I see myself dreaming.”

            So I lay there on the living room floor, pouring glasses of Merlot.

Dreaming of a time when I’d be dreamt of too.

I’m the safe bet. The gentle heart. The old soul.

I’m the best friend, the confidante.

            I’m the girl who everyone thinks will always be around.

From afar, they admire me.

Read my works of art entirely, and perceive me to be the person that they imagine upon that page.

            But I am more than they can handle.

I fall apart when she tells me she still loves me.

Even when she says it with her lips.

I wake up in the morning shuffling foot in front of boundaries.

Trying not to trip over her heart on my way out the door.

Because it’s complicated.

            And I never was good at determining between fact and fiction.
Or the morning after.

I steady my hand as it dials another number.

Another day, another dollar.

Pushing - my way - to the top.

But by nightfall, I find myself back on this couch trying to undo you.

You always made it easy to write about heartbreak.

I hope that doesn’t “annoy you.”

Good luck on your first date.

            It should be interesting.

She will never take your breath the way I did.