The Fire of Veracity

The Fire of Veracity [part 1]

'I love you'.

Why did he say that?

She ran out of his arms, out of the room, out of the house.

He scared her off

With those three words.

I ran out so fast.

Those words said so tenderly;

It shook me,

Pierced my heart.

How can he love a slut like me?

He knows how I get around.

. . . Yet

I notice how he stays,

Keeps his arms open to me

And no one else.

Aron collapses to his knees.

He thought if she knew

She would stay,

See that she won't be used by every guy she meets.

That his heart is pure,

His intentions sweet.

He loves her -

But she must love THEM more.

Why does he insist on looking away

When a guy that I know

And that Aron knows

Knows me -

Why does he insist on turning away

Like he doesn't see?

He sees!

He sees the looks I receive

From every other male on the street!

He sees! -

Yet

'I love you'

So clearly . . .

He sees;

He's not blind.

But of them all,

He thinks,

Hopes really,

That he is the only one she willingly returns to.

She doesn't use him

As she uses THEM.

She doesn't use him at all.

She laughs with him,

Walks with him,

Cries with him.

Her kisses are sweet,

Not hungry.

She goes slow

And is patient.

So he thought . . .

'I love you'

Would make his love happy.

Someone comes up

And taps my shoulder.

It's a douche I formally hung out with.

'Get the hell away'

I snap.

'You know I can make you happy'

He smirks.

So I go with him, to let him try.

But it's empty, a void;

No happiness.

Just a brewing anger,

A simmering darkness,

A suffocating

Loneliness

Aron pulls up to his feet.

Take it like a man.

But it's a death trap.

To think of NOT thinking about-

To forget the touch of-

To ignore the whispering voice of-

It's too much.

He builds a fire

For the coming autumn night,

Imagining making smoke signals through the chimney

To call her back.

I push him off.

'You can't make me happy!'

I scream.

I yank on my shirt, pull on my shoes,

And run out.

Again.

Twice already.

Away from two -

But running back to one.

The fire flickers in his dark eyes.

A snap of the log.

Why

A spark from the kindle.

Why

A wisp of stinging smoke.

No . . .

A slam of a door.

He turns around.