To the lost boy
He approaches me with anger once again
but this time I don’t back away.
I stand my ground, no longer fearful of him
I choose to listen.
She chose you over me,
anger thinly veils the absolute desperation.
I can see that now.
She didn’t, I respond and quickly follow up,
but I know it must feel that way.
The rage I see bubbling up suppresses,
ever so slightly,
as to not spill over.
We played out this scene before,
a hundred times, a thousand,
and yet this time I reveal the truth,
When she lost you, she lost herself.
And we never saw her again.
Elizabeth Cook 