She tiptoed on ivory and ebony piano keys every Sunday as he sat in pews. And sometimes, heavy-footed, the sounds rang angry through the crowd and the empty church halls as she asked God, “Why she wasn’t as worthy as him?”
I had always been the pliable one... the one that always asked herself, “How much could you use me until you were done?” I resigned to bed sheets: comatose... the idea of loneliness sinking in... wondering if you were thinking of me.
I wasn’t always flexible, but always willing to bend and break on your behalf until you decided to flee the coup. Because that’s when I finally bucked up and stood my shaky ground and realized you were actually the lonely one.