Admittedly, I still read some of your poems.
I did, just now.
You wrote that sometimes you think I forget that you were his victim too.
But.
He never ***** you.
He never abused you.
He never made you feel like you were worthless,
Always the last choice,
And he certainly didn't take your best friend away from you.
I remember picking out your white wedding dress with you.
I remember how beautiful you looked in it,
With it's laced back and fitting form.
I remember being happy that you were happy.
But in the room, as you tried it on,
I also remember feeling a little betrayed.
A thought nagged at the back of my mind:
"How could she do this, knowing what he's done?"
I still don't quite understand how you can be with him.
I don't know what the appeal is.
How could you walk around town holding onto his arm
Without thinking "they know what he is?"
Why do you want to be the girl who married a *** offender?
Why do you want to explain to your neighbors that your husband is on the registry?
I just don't get it...

This past week has been a blur.
A range of emotions from
anger
sadness
confusion
to
happiness
excitement
bliss.
For nearly 3 months I prayed he would come back.
I loved him, and still do.
I knew we could work it out.
I believed so firmly that we were the ones for each other.
And here we are,
a week after getting back to talking.
It's almost like nothing has changed.

Sometimes,
All I want to do is run my fingers
Through your curly red hair.
To caress your face
And feel the texture of your beard
Under my hands.

Sometimes,
All I want to do is
Look into your pretty, blue eyes
Framed by your pale blond lashes.
To admire the freckles peppered across
The bridge of your nose.

Sometimes,
All I want to do is hear your laugh.
To hear your voice when you get home,
Saying, "Baby, I'm here."

Sometimes,
I miss you so much that it's hard to breathe.
I wish that we could talk.
I wish we could be friends like we were before.
I wish you weren't so stubborn.
I wish I knew why.

Sometimes,
Only sometimes,
I still cry.