The Brokenhearted

He didn't want to hurt her, but he did.

He didn't try to hurt her, but because he
did not do the things he knew, he knew,
would keep her heart from breaking,
there it was in oozing pieces on the floor,
and she beside it cleaning up the mess
while he walked out the door  so no one
else could see. accusing her, most likely,
but she wanted to protect him just as much
as she was missing that he didn't even try
protecting her.

She didn't want to hurt him, but she did.

She didn't try to hurt him, but because she
could not be a different person than the one
who lived inside her skin. She wasn't who
he wanted, not any more at least, and maybe,
if he would admit it, she really never was.
because there was no way beneath God's bluest
sky to make him want to share her happiness
with life and love. Ahe found the hurt was
not to be avoided.

Instead, the hurt engaged in subterfuge, the kind
society accepts, disguising all the pain and
passionless existence as a kind of pleasant
mediocrity, just one more sober couple
plodding through the years, each finding
ways to cope with all the broken parts
inside their hearts which no one else could see.

It made her sad.
He barely even noticed.


(c) Ellen Gillette, 2014