Anna said she’d love me until death, so I sabotaged
our chance by sneaking in the door after the streetlights were lit.
Anna proved her point, so I distorted the questions I’d never ask.
When we met at a mutual friend’s funeral,
it was the unlikeliest of places to have had the best conversation
I’d ever had.
If it weren’t for Lorazepam, I’d have died on the spot.
My stutter calmed as I sought comfort in her easy eyes.
My self-esteem dwelled in the shadow of a tiny voice.
The only place I knew to get drunk was with my lips pressed against Anna’s.
My backup plan consisted of meeting the guys at a bar
just in case she ever changed her mind.
Bikers at the bar stole my cash, but I’ve got a few coins, maybe even some loose change.
I needed to listen to the tiny voices in my head for the spare tips I’d found when I realized
I didn’t deserve her.
Hell, I didn’t even deserve me.
So I sabotaged us to make Anna pack up and run,
but she refused to.
I lost count of her swings against my face.
I slept on the couch more times than I cared to admit,
but the fear of her leaving hurt more than this hard frame.
After midnight, I strolled through the house, ending up in the den.
A closed notebook on the oak desk: Anna’s journal
It was wrong, but only a little of what I’d been doing was right, so I opened the journal and sat in the office chair. The sentences told the story of a woman in love with an insecure man, a man for whom she knew she was too good.
God, I know Ben loves me. I’m scared that he will grow to hate me. I’ve always been insecure. I don’t see that changing soon unless you give us the strength to love each other.
“Find what you’re looking for?” Anna said, standing before me with tears spreading across her cheeks.
I grabbed my chest and gasped for air. “I didn’t hear—”
“Haven’t heard me in a while.”
“I was afraid you’d hate me.”
“You should be more afraid of me loving you.” Anna winked. “Come to bed.”

Twitter – @AC0040

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