The Man in the Picture:

I used to look at this photo of you on our fridge,
and then I would look at you.
I would slide my hand down your soft wide hip and say,
"Baby, why don't you look like that picture anymore?"
"I'm not sure", you'd say,
and walk upstairs to sit infront of your computer with a tub of cold spaghetti sauce and a spoon.
(A behavior so idiosyncratically yours.)

At night I'd crawl into bed stinking of whisky, and sorrow, and disappointment,
and you'd wrap your arms around me
                                    Envelope me.
                                    Warm.
                                    Soft.

You loved me in a time when I couldn't love myself - and yet,
unconditional was not my love for you.
Again I would turn to that photo of you on the fridge.
"You look so handsome, and cool, and fun. When was that again?"
"Some years ago. Before I met you"
I'd take another hit from the bottle and both you and the picture would start to get blurry.
And I wouldn't care much for either of you anymore.

I would obliterate - and you
would calm, protect, take care of me and my ego.
I would disrespect - and you
would forgive, relieve, dry my tears with your sleeve.

The day you left me I stomped and cried,
I held your shirt collar and felt emptiness pervade me.
A week later I sat shivering in bed,
feeling like I had no skin, no heart
                                     No courage.

And today when I see you I see the man in the picture,
blossomed by the light of no longer standing in my shadow.
I watch you from afar,
Because I love you too much to get close.

I love you too much to get close.


-J