Between Bruises & Blooms

I think
this is the truth
I hated
admitting most.

I wasn't waiting
for you
to become
someone new.

I was waiting
for someone
I had already met

to come back.

The sober you.

The man
who wrote songs.

Who could be
ridiculously soft
in the middle
of all that darkness.

Who could make me
laugh.

Who could hold me
like there wasn't
a war happening
inside his own head.

I had seen him.

That was the problem.

If you had always
been cruel,

I would have
had nothing
to wait for.

But somewhere
inside you
was a man
I loved.

And every time
he disappeared,

I told myself

he'll come back.

Tomorrow.

Next week.

After this binge.

After this fight.

After this apology.

After he gets
his shit together.

I waited
for the sober
version of you

like a widow
waiting at a window

for someone
who was technically
still alive.

Sometimes
you came back.

Just long enough
to remind me
why I stayed.

Then you disappeared
again.

Eventually
I understood

I could spend
my entire life
waiting
for one version
of you

while another
version
destroyed mine.

I still love
parts of that man.

I probably always
will.

But love
does not require
me
to keep waiting

at the window.