A Stranger Again

For the first time since the beginning,

I don't know you.

You move as a stranger, or so I must assume.

The memories live in my brain,

quick assumptions of what you would like, do, say, unsettle my stomach,

a gut feeling newly trapped and wrong,

because it has to be true,

this new reality where you are suddenly a stranger again.

Otherwise, I have to assume you're lying

to me about all of this

or to yourself about the possibilities,

and I can't afford it anymore,

can't subject myself to the way you tear me apart

every time you say you want this and take it back again.