Face to Face

Many times, I face you, and come close to telling you the truth but the chokehold of regret, and the veil of my transgressions tilt the tracks of my weary feet. I swallow it instead. Bitter! You have created a portrait of me, on a torn, debilitated canvas, slapped haphazardly with putrid, expired paint. I long to tell you that it was not my fault, that I went according to his words, words which spoke nothing of you, words which made your presence dissipate.

Now that the ride is over, and I've been discarded like a gum wrapper in the wind, landing in the murky waters of the repulsive gutter, I can feel the tap of courage beckoning me to come forth and....... speak. But! What would you say......that after I jolted your world and almost capsized it, I now face you as the victim, begging for you to stand in the same shoes that made you almost run with insanity? Again, I retreat, and gulp the pain, this time so sharp, that it cuts at the shame built up in my throat, leaving me to swallow a gushing wound.

I wish I was you. You gained everything I loved, and you did not even have to try. Meanwhile my feeble trials at stealing love dealt me ghastly blows and lessons learned and a reflection in the mirror that jeers at me for being a fool. I guess that is why you smirk each time you pass me by and why you use your silence as a tool of mockery; to teach that another woman's tears and prayers are formidable weapons that win patient battles against the affairs of the heart.

I dream of the day when we could stand face to face, where I plead my case of temporary insanity but until then my only hope is standing browbeat with Mr. Accountability. He is going to force me to accept my part and then he will turn me to face and beg for forgiveness so that the bag pack of guilt can lessen from my weary shoulders. Even then, in this crucial defining moment, I think back to how much love I gave him, and thinking it was enough to keep him. He really should have made his intentions clear.

Now, under the weight of remorse, I stumble, and tumble to the ground. Turning around while picking my fragments, slowly lifting off the ground, I see a hand outstretched to help me, with palms of forgiveness and understanding eyes. I stand taller to get a closer look and shriek in horror that it is you. Just like that, my dreams become real, and I baffle because I do not deserve the honour. I sway, then I stagger but it leads to the inevitable, two women, one beaming with shame, standing face to face.

I still do not know what to say.................................................