the beginning felt a lot like healing.
“I feel like I’ve known you my whole life…”
we say to each other,
thinking this might be love.
take it slow but we move fast.
if it feels right, there is no wrong time.
you buy me flowers,
the colors you can see
and ask me to meet your parents.
“I don’t want to get hurt.”
“Neither do I.”
but you are here: 2 months later
whiskey on your breath,
naming all of the grievances against my soul,
justifying apathy because it is your friends,
because it is locker room talk,
because who am I,
a woman,
to raise my voice,
to make kindness political.
“It doesn’t need to be your entire identity.”
you watch me cry and do not soften.
I drive back the four hours,
missing a new year ring in
and letting go of something I thought was mine.
you do not check in,
you do not say sorry.
have you sobered up enough yet
to see that you are everything you pray you aren’t?
I hope this hangover serves as an epiphany.