‘I’ve something to tell you...
I kissed someone else.’
‘You kissed someone else?!
That can’t be true, who?’

‘How could you not notice me,
you had many chances to see...
I don’t know what I want,
but this is honesty.’

He storms away, slamming door
out into the night. Then -

‘I’m sorry, your actions are yours but
it’s my fault you’re there...
please, I’ll get help, be your friend
I’ll get better, I swear...’

‘I love you’ says he
‘Why, truthfully?’
‘You’re so beautiful...
I don’t want to fail..’
But beautiful is a trophy, a conquest
and marriage isn’t a contest.

Actually, I now see
The kissing of someone else
was me, breaking free.
I’d broken long ago
his promises felt hollow
I was clutching at saving me.

My joy, our family, our life
all millstones to him,
burden and strife.
The endless trying, ideas and hope,
Fell on deaf ears - I was just the wife.

Then I stuck around, tried,
grief searing inside.
Let him touch me (excruciatingly)
give flowers and hold me...
but it was gone with old tides.

And simple jealousy tipped him?
Got to be kidding me.