Silhouette

When you realize that you only loved her for her shape, her smell, her sex, and how she inflated your ego. How you only saw a set of wide hips to lay rest to your lustful thought. A painted portrait of a shadow… space… a body. How you taught her to tame her tongue the way you like it: not for speaking too much. Only when spoken to. When you realize you paid no mind to her mind, her intellect, conversation, her dreams and aspirations. You will see that you fell in love with her silhouette.  A body where you bury you humility and hollow and hatred and hell. She’s no school yard for your child like recreation.  You saw the big picture, but never took the time to zoom into her details. You saw the big pitcher, but never took a sip of her bitter-sweet. She belonged in the limelight, but you saw fit to leave her in the luminescence of the moon… in the dark... in your sheets.

When she finally realizes that you only see her as a mass of flesh and not the temple of divinity as she sees herself, she will no longer be the mausoleum for you to lay your dead weight. She will hate you. She will never forgive you. She will leave. And when she’s finally gone and you’re sitting in the sulk and the silence and the sad of your soul. When even the daybreak hymn of the birds remind you of her, the flood gates will burst and you will remember her bright smile, every curl of her hair, the glide of her walk, her touch, and the smell of her skin. You will miss her. And then, and only then, will you learn to fall in love with her… all of her.