so many times now…I was going to see him, going to hear from him. But it did not happen and did not happen and
so many times now…I have fought the tears that verify the depth of my sadness, the fact of my hurt
and not for the first time only do I wonder why am I this way? Why do I believe the words in spite of actions that are louder, clearer, and more consistent?
And not for the first time only do I perceive an insight within my hurt-clouded heart-clouded mind: it came in the opening words of an unwritten poem:
Have you admitted or denied the rationality,
The endurance of your false words?
Do I stand a chance realistically,
(Why ask: it is easy for him to lie
to me)
Will you ever respond truthfully?
Why do you lie? If you even pretended
To attempt to answer me, if you knew
something
You always knew, but kept from me,
Would you ever switch direction, show
respect for me,
Or lie in spite of your exposure,
or feel guilty,
Or pretend remorse when contempt
takes the course,
Contempt satisfied to lie to me,
certain to be
The tenor of the feelings lingering
Residually in spite of me inside
of me.
Sincerely,
Me
I
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