It’s for the best.
These words have been said three times,
Three separate occasions
Two agonizing heartbreak over text
One whispering loss hidden by denial.
Denial of self-love,
self-respect and the right thing.
Acknowledging labels and societal lines crossed,
we both said it’s for the best
and said goodbye.
You said you want to tell you children
and their children and their children and so on
about the woman who introduced you to Mexican food
who taught you about sex and kissing
But all I want is for you to see
how perfectly your face fit in my hands as I stared into your eyes
soft and gentle adoration
between bites and suction and arms so tight
like I was your oxygen
and your marriage was an underground cave.
Soft butterflies after forever
and confessions of feelings have never felt so right
that “wrong” was not in our vocabulary
that “affair” was not technically true
and maybe it was for the best
and yes I know it’s for the best
But it’s 3:25am
And as I lie here unable to sleep
nerve-wrecked about my interview,
bingeing and distracting and succumbing to old habits
I can’t help but to think of you.
Of soft stolen kisses
and whispers of friendship