The Story of Us All

Written - 2-12-10

I turn the key and walk in, I can smell the sweet aroma of dinner.

You look over your shoulder from the stove and smile - a warm welcome.

I hurry to you and give you a quick kiss, hoping you can't tell.

But, even the smell of dinner cannot mask the smell of a man that is not you.

I hurry off to change, hoping to keep the evening moving along.

You call down the hall - dinner is done. Your voice's tone marked with a tinge of pain.

Dinner, a kiss, a long embrace, how can you not know by now?

But this is not the first time, nor the same lover - its become something of a sickly familiar routine.

But, it has been, what seems like forever since the last time. It is an improvement.

You never asked why and I'm not sure I could have an answer myself.

He wasn't a good lover - you know my body unlike any other.

His eyes didn't light up with anything but lust - no match for your tender passion.

He didn't even smell good - an old shirt of yours lays next to me when you're gone so I can sleep.

So why? I don't know. I never do.

Your friends warned you long ago - If she did it once, she will do it again - you simply said you loved me. They called you a fool.

And now, sitting across the table from you, I dare not see if that love still lingers in your eyes.

I hurriedly finish the meal - my favorite - and rush to leave, unable to bear my guilt and pain any longer.

But as I get up you reach for my hand, squeeze it gently, and let me go.

I retreat to the shower, hoping to at least get the smell of my lover out of my hair, my skin, my soul.

I look up from brushing my hair to see you in the doorway, watching me.

For the first time since I arrived our eyes meet; and yes - the love I have always known is still there.

You walk over and wrap your arms around me. You simply whisper 'I love you, my wife, my beautiful bride.'

My tears, my broken spirit, my weakened body say more in that moment than a simple 'I'm sorry,', no matter how sincere and genuine they would be.

There will be time enough for that later, but for now, I collapse into the arms of a fool, who, with all I have done to him, still loves me like the day we were married.

©Kristen Garcia 7/2010