You can tell yourself that you did it for me. Kept your distance, stayed silent, to give me time and space.
But the truth is you were avoiding my tears. They make you angry. You think I cry to evoke some reaction, some action, some feeling, from you.
Perhaps they make you feel just a little touch of guilt for all the lies you said.
But I cry because it hurts. I cry because I’m grieving a past life. A past love.
I’m grieving the loss of a man I thought I knew.
I’m crying for a man who doesn’t understand me.
I’m crying because of a man who doesn’t need me.
I’m crying for a family we tried to put together, a family bound by our vows.
Where do I fit in your life story? After all this time, all we went through together, will I even have a minor role or even just a footnote?
I’m working on my own story. Your part in it is still there, intact, though the call sheet for the role no longer lists it as the leading man, the hero in my life.
I’ll find peace again. I’ll be happy again. I’ll move on.
But it won’t be because of this space and time that you forced on me.
I’ll get there in spite of it.