What I Need to Stay

You are nostalgia for the summer after high school graduation.

In the limo, when I boldly put my head on your shoulder.

I thought how lucky a person would be

to look into those wide blue eyes every day.

Eyes I don’t meet often now.

You taught me how to love very gently.

We were overwhelmed, consumed.

Everything was on fire until I caught my breath.

We slipped into a comfortable rhythm.

Calm and balanced with those original flames visiting now and then.

It was a foundation that I could build a life upon.

But now I don’t see my own value reflected in your eyes anymore.

I try to show you, to give you what I need.

What I need to stay.

Hoping that you’ll notice and want to give it back to me.

Our apartment is filling with water.

I’m the only person swimming.

Your careless messes box in my mind.

My admirers say “well, if you were mine...”

Why does everyone else notice but you?

Why do you need to question everything I say?

Why didn’t I see it sooner?

Sunk cost fallacy, your family, the memories,

I was poised to stay but now I have no choice.

I cannot be alive like this.

You rarely think to save me some of the food I bought.

I am not your host, your maid, your mother.

I always promised myself I wouldn’t end up here.

Where so many women languish.

You said you wouldn’t, you said you knew how it made me feel.

I want to love you but my emotions are locked up tight.

My heart calls you the thief of time.

I think I should clean that up so I can breathe.

And I keep thinking it until the sun sets.

My energy to create is as empty as the ice cream carton.

For some reason you’ve left the spoon in there.

I’ll use it to dig my way out.