Picture Show

"You could get used to almost anything."
-Bridget

I saw you last night. We made everything okay, you had reasons for those things that were said and done. They were valid, they made sense. You were sorry--not just the brushed off sorry you fed me before. No, you were truly sorry, and I could see it in your face. It was etched with pain and regret for hurting me. "Lets try again," you said, "It'll be different this time, I promise. You are more than the person I couldn't say no to." Was I? Was I more than an experiment?

No . . . something didn't sound right. My brain detected the lie. Reality crept into the scene, I began to see the impossibility. You lie! Again you lie to me. You're so convincing.
You convince me with your words.
Stop talking.
You convince me with your eyes.
Stop looking at me.
You convinced me with your lips.        Or did I convince myself?
Stop kissing me.
But you did stop.
There. It. Is.
You stopped while I hung on, and I knew it then. If I'm being honest, I knew it before it even began.
So if that's true, why did I continue? Did I think that I could change you? Make you whole?
Two halves don't make a whole, and we're two jagged, rusty halves.

You saw the change in my eyes go from belief to betrayal, the yearning remained. We both knew that I could never have you. This was acknowledged in the silence. This movie was played out. I felt myself leaving, I have to try to mend.
. . . But this is impossible, for we will meet again.



And then I woke up.