I got the nicest comment today, on a poem I wrote on September 20.  This was written between the time Scott convinced me he wasn’t with her, and they were just talking, “a little”, and when he told me he was going to be with her for the weekend on Saturday, October 3.   He swore it was the first time…

This is the comment:  When i was young, feeling like a former life it was so long ago, i loved poetry. I loved copying others; words. Then I stopped, never to return. Until now, reading this. Thank YOU for completely, totally understanding. This may be my favorite poem of all time.

It actually made me choke up.  We all hope our writing touches someone, that’s at least half the reason we do it, to feel that grand wonderful thing, human connection.  (The other reason I write is to work things out, and send things out into the universe where they can be dealt with for my and everyone’s higher good.  At least, that’s the intention.)  To get this validation, so beautifully, I can’t thank this person enough.  I really needed to read this, and it so eases the pain of what caused me to write the poem in the first place.

The poem is called “Even Though”.  It was written on a Sunday morning.  Scott had offered on Saturday to come see me on Sunday for another “nice afternoon” and I had told him not to come, because that’s all he ever offered and I wanted more, or to be free, released from what had become the bondage of loving him.  So, when I didn’t hear from him the rest of Saturday, I assumed he was mad at me, for refusing him.  Now I know I didn’t hear from him because he was with her.

I obviously knew there was something more wrong, I was obviously searching and obviously in a lot of pain.  And I KNOW he read it, and I know he didn’t care, but thought it was great to have me so in love with him.  This is the poem.

Even Though

My world this morning is unsettled

Yet again.

Dark gray clouds race through the early morning sky,

And a wind from the sea, 30 miles away,

Blowing, fiercely,

Bending trees.

Bending me.

A voice called to me

speaking silently

Asking me for just a small slice of my soul.

It would have been so easy

to acquiesce, to agree.

To pretend, again.

Oh I am so good at pretending

At making up stories

That what isn’t, is.

This time I said, no…..

You can’t have that slice.

Because it will leave a wound

When you are gone.

My heart lately, is tender.

It is covered with small wounds healing.

Wounds inflicted by me

Pretending, for you.

I can’t inflict another.

Even though I love you with all my heart.

Thank you hpy2bme.  Thank you.