Stranger

I’ll never know what happened to you.
The person who made me laugh, took me on wild motorcycle rides to nowhere, held me in the night, kissed me softly, gave me children. You were there, you were real, I’m sure of it. For a few years, you were right, you were okay, you were us. I wish you had stayed longer.

I’ll never know what happened to you.
You stopped breathing a few years ago but you disappeared long before that. I looked for you. But the looking took away pieces of me shaped as bruises and tears and broken hearts, and second and third and fourth chances. I couldn’t give you any more chances because I was afraid I would vanish and our children would be alone and afraid.

I’ll never know what happened to you.
One day a stranger came through the door, disguised as you. Instead of kissing me, he pushed me to the floor. Instead of whispering “goodnight,” he called me a whore. Instead of gently loving me, he hurt me. Instead of holding my hand, he stalked me. Instead of bringing you back, he killed the dreams for my family. Instead of giving me freedom, he held me under water until my soul floated away.

I’ll never know what happened to you.
I am missing pieces that a stranger stole. Important pieces that made me whole. I tried to hide and run and pretend it wasn’t so, but he was still there, under my skin, in my sleep, around every blind corner, behind all the dark shadows. Now I am broken and scarred and scared and tired and I have to work harder and look closer in order to find the pieces, find a new dream, find me. Because you left and a stranger walked through the door.

I’ll never know what happened to you.
But I know what happened to me.

(Image from Pinterest)

12 thoughts on “Stranger

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