today
I watched her
open the mailbox.

she hesitated
before she did.

to anyone else,
this meant nothing.
they didn't know



that nine years ago,
she was standing
in the driveway
while her husband
was taken away.

under the glow of
red and blue lights,
she smiled thinking
that this was finally over.

there would be
no more bruises
and no more heartache.

she would finally be free.
she could finally breathe.

she had no idea that this
was only the beginning.



as the years went on,
the faith drained
from her body.

he was everywhere.

in her call log,
outside her window,
in her nightmares,

e v e r y w h e r e.

he wouldn't leave.

she didn't think that
she could ever be free.



but today,
I watched her stand
in her driveway

and open the mailbox
of her very own house

and read the letters
from the loved ones
that she was forced to
lose all those years ago.



today,
the neighbors watched
as a random woman
opened her mailbox.

I watched as a woman
finally opened the
gate to freedom.

silk sheets and
expensive lingerie
and red lipstick

and I waste it all
on someone who
I know doesn't
love me but

when he lies
and says he does,

at least I hear it.



he says
"I love you"

and I know that
he's said it to
ten other girls
this week alone

but I smile and
I kiss him back.



because
when he says
"I love you"

the words linger
in the air and
his scent lingers
on my pillow

and when he's gone,
if I listen closely,

I can still hear it.



he says
"I love you"

and I know that
he doesn't mean it

but it doesn't matter



because
"I love you"
is something that
I still can't tell myself.

we grew flowers
in our garden
when I was a kid.

we had tulips
and daffodils and
forget-me-nots.

my friend taught me
how to play the
forget-me-not game.

I'd pull off one petal
and say "he loves me."

I'd pull off the next
and say "he loves me not."

but I learned quickly
that there were only
five petals on every
one of those flowers.

if I started with
"he loves me,"
he would always
love me at the end.

if I started with
"he loves me not,"
he would never
love me at the end.



the other day,
I thought about
those forget-me-nots

and I laughed at how
ironic that is now.

I knew what type
of man you were.

I already knew how
we were going to end,

but I still chose to
play your game.

I've always hated the term
"hauntingly beautiful."

it's what they say when
a sight gives you chills
and your heart aches
and your eyes tear up.

I understand the meaning,
but I hate how it's worded.
that phrase confuses me

because once, I knew
a girl who wasn't
hauntingly beautiful.

when I looked at her,
I didn't get chills
and my heart didn't ache
and tears never formed
in the corners of my eyes

but dear god,
she was beautiful
in a way that I don't
have the words to describe.



she was so
unbelievably beautiful

and to this day,
she still haunts me.