You proposed when we were 6.
I never forgot you.
We dated when we were 17.
I blew you in a park.
You blew my mind
and my heart away.
We drifted into separate lives
when we went away to college
but dad never
gave me the messages.

Now you're married unhappily.
5 years of fantasizing about me.
You found me
on social media.
We've chatted for months.
Yesterday, you told me
about the dreams--
the ones I haunt.
You tell me your dirtiest thoughts.
You tell me about the pedestal
you where I reside;
I could never live
up to your fantasy.
And I don't want to.

I've thought about you
my entire life.
I gave it up when I found out
you were married.
Then you found me.
Now you're in my head.
I'm the unwilling mistress
of your mind.
I never injected myself there.
So why do I feel so guilty?

I want your friendship.
You still make me laugh.
This isn't fair.
There's nothing in it
for me.
You have everything
to lose.
How did this become my ***** little secret?

Why did you have to get married?
Why can't you get a divorce?
Why can't I quit you?

It's hard to watch
the most brilliant woman
I have ever known slip away.

It is hard to watch her struggle to breath,
to see her too weak to sit upright,
exhausted by eating incredibly small portions of food.

It is hard to explain to her the confusion
that she experiences when waking up from sleep,
confused between her dreams and reality.

It is hard to listen to her tell us the things she sees,
which aren't real, as she obsesses needlessly over small things,
her hallucinations becoming apparent.

It is hard to hear her say
that she just wants to go,
because this is no way to live.

What is hardest, however, is knowing
that as hard as it is to witness,
it has to be much harder being her,
experiencing it.