I love you.
it hurts, and I love you anyway.
somehow, I loved you before I knew you.
you are my poison, and you are my antidote.
I love you inordinately, irrevocably, impossibly.

one part of me goes - what does it matter? why does it matter? this is who I am, this is what I look like. this is me beside you in the morning, barefaced, this is me dressing up for you in the evening, eyeliner, lipstick, the works. these are both me. think what you will, say what you will to your friends. it can't affect me. I don't exist outside of that.

but another part of me goes - I want you to like me. I want you to care. I want you to think about me. I want you to stay. I want you to be okay with my presence. not everything is a means to an end. I care so much it hurts.

we love you and we are happy to have you
but we wanted to stop at two
we agreed to stop at two
and then this bad thing happened
that really ruined things
and we decided to have another one
because we want a clean slate and
this third child will make things better
and we can start afresh and it will all be okay

and then you don’t take into account
the 7 and 11 year age difference and
the two of them hated me then for existing
and for being spoilt (like I could control it)

and for having what they didn’t have
and having to be my babysitter
and taking away their childhood

and I was never in your plan but it’s all okay
because now the narrative changes
and I’m to be the redemption child
but having another child doesn’t
save your marriage and
it doesn’t create a clean slate and

no matter how well you phrase it
I was just never meant to exist

but then I did anyway
so that you two could feel better
about that one mistake that ****** everything up

I had so many questions:

"why did you leave?
what did I do?
don't you miss me?
don't you feel bad?"

he answered only the first question:

"I just did."

being on my knees
begging to be slapped
peering up at faceless men
and thinking: this is what I want
actually, believing this is what I want

and I let (asked) you to do all that to me
there was some resistance, "I've not done that before."
what, slapped someone? deprived someone of oxygen?
but you did it anyway, and now you say I've ruined you

so now we're both a little more damaged than before.
"some moments I fear you are in self-destruct mode.
I like it, I hate it." you plead for me to stop this.
somehow, I wake up. and somehow, I listen.

I told myself I'd never do it again
and yet I found myself in the airport at 5 AM
and I found you and we got ****** coffee and we waited

we waited and we flew and we drove
we laughed and cried and kissed
we drank and talked and ******

a little boy asked if I was your wife
and you said yes
and when you booked a taxi to the airport for me
you called me your girlfriend

how liberating it is to lose yourself in the fantasy of it all
but the loneliness hits eventually
and somewhere along the way
you found your conscience

somewhere along the way
you felt bad about the age difference
you felt bad for letting me give you permission
you felt bad but you did it still

I hate that I like you as a person
I hate that we did that
I hate that it didn't end terribly
I hate that I can't hate you