A Wet Weekend
That was the weekend you offered me
a weakened, watered down version,
of what you’d been up to while we
were separated for a month or two.
Actually, it was over two.
You needed some space, remember?
Your space was spread over November
and December and just into January.
We met again a few days into the new
year. Talked of a fresh start. My beating
heart was perhaps beating too loud,
was so obviously broken it disturbed
the respite you’d been seeking and caused
you to have second thoughts regarding
us getting back together. Guarding
yourself against me was a sensible move.
I’d fooled myself into believing it was still love
I felt but it was fear of being alone that drove
my moves. And now I can reveal I’m grateful
that you were strong enough to say no,
it’s not working, it’s over. Though
if you’d told me just how many lovers
had been in your bed during that period apart,
how much time you’d made up for,
what a ball you’d been having,
it would have hurt,
would have felt really bad,
but, this is some consolation, it would have
shown me I couldn’t lose a love I’d never really
had. Our ‘love’ was not love, actually.