It is strange to see you now,
hiding behind your men
in line at the gas station,
stealing peripheral glances
at me with your hands in your pockets,
raging to get out the door
back into your car and drive.
You with your artificial red hair and
air of overwhelming significance.
You with your bent legs and
crooked neck.
You with your eyes of cold desire.
And to think I loved you and called
it "forever."
And to think I was once the fire
in your bleak hearth.
You didn't want to be warm,
only to have the option.
You didn't want to be loved,
only to possess a heart much
more tender than your own.
It is strange to see you now,
and how little you've grown.
As for me, I feel big now.
Big inside at last.
Big enough to be content with
being small.
Big enough to admit
what I've done wrong,
and to not speak of
what I've done right.
Big enough to look you in the eyes
and not dream of seeing myself in them tonight.