She asked me did I feel abandoned when she asked me to move out. I lied and told her no. Really the truth lay somewhere in between. I did feel abandoned, but not because she asked me to leave. I had been an ill loved dog tied in her yard so long; the relief of being turned loose was like shaking a stone from a shoe.
And so I left. And my sorrow and indignation were utter and righteous all at once. I have held it, fondled it, examined so many times it’s worn white and smooth like a scar. My prized possession. My battle wound. Trotted out to titillate and disgust like an incision from a particularly gruesome surgery.
I have no interest in forgiveness. I need the scar to remind me of where she used to be. I’ll never have her, but I’ll have the scar from where she used to be. Closing together the two halves of me make me whole.
And so I left. And my sorrow and indignation were utter and righteous all at once. I have held it, fondled it, examined so many times it’s worn white and smooth like a scar. My prized possession. My battle wound. Trotted out to titillate and disgust like an incision from a particularly gruesome surgery.
I have no interest in forgiveness. I need the scar to remind me of where she used to be. I’ll never have her, but I’ll have the scar from where she used to be. Closing together the two halves of me make me whole.
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