I had not realized, until years later
Locked in a room with some wet mixture of paint
Drying around the edges inside me
Crusting, not really drying like paint is supposed to.
I told myself I understood that I didn't understand
That we didn't get along
There was no reason for love.
She stole my heart and that was okay,
And she'd steal it again when I took it away.
That she was feral and strange and not at all like me
Until, hiding in my little lit up world
Flooded with blue and softness
A dog, and a cat, and a gray blanket
I was warm and content, and ignoring the dark shadows in the back of my mind
But also so cold at the same time.
It was a good day, the kind where you tumble along like a bubble riding a stream
Nothing of interest in the day's report
Until something stands out.
Only one thing stood out
And it filled my warm day with cold, like two hands of opposite color linking,
Black as ink and white as the trim on my gray blanket
Touching, but never mixing
And in my book,
I read the words "sick with a miserable happiness."
And like a boot
Falling in my stream, popping my bubble
And forever warping the path I would take
I understood what she was, and what reason there was to love.