Girl Shakespeare

I feel the throbbing pain wash over me, cover my head, fester in my temples, fill my throat. 

The most wretched loneliness. 

I lay on your chest while waves of sorrow shudder out from mine 

and you whisper sweet emptiness to me. The TV drones, its white light every so often illuminating my wrung out face under yours. 

You love me. This is something true. 

We are two planets which sometimes briefly align in their wild orbit of something greater. 

I do not, for the most part, feel understood. 

But the tenderness— sometimes— so magnificent.

Fault is irrelevant. The deepest sting is perhaps your good heart and your inability to see me. I don’t think I afford you the kindnesses I used to. 

I used to be sure my children would have your eyes. A version of me still wants them to, hopes for this very earnestly, somewhere burrowed in her ribs.

I love you. Oh my God, I’m so sorry for what comes next.