Hard to understand, a riddle of a woman, you said.
Dangerous in joy, childish in grief. Wicked in a way you didn’t understand:
I wanted you to understand. Wrote it out plain, line by line—
consumptive desire, abyssal hunger—girl,
strangled in desire, youth.
So many ways to speak past one another.
The closer I come to precision, the harder it is to say:
I wanted you more than language itself. That winter night—
the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Do you understand?
Tell me you understand.
I wish honesty did not come at such sharp expense.
You never saw how I loved you.
So, the world will.
Photo by Fabian Bächli on Unsplash.
Abigail E. Sims 