You reached out to me that night of the flood waters and national guard. You called me, you wanted to see me, you said you’d drive across that valley and come get me.
So we went out into that night, my camera in my hands, yours in your pockets, and I know I was frightened by everything I saw. I think you were, too. We stood there under a dying street light, and you asked me if I’d hug you. The water was rapid, and we could hear it slapping the bridge ominously. I remember I only realized how cold it was once I was wrapped in your flannel clad arms.
You said, look at me. You said, I love you. You said, I have always loved you.
I could hear the tears in your voice. I could hear the struggle in your throat when you said you would find a way for us to remain friends despite your love, despite your wife, and I think I knew deep in my heart that you were lying. You wouldn’t find a way. But I allowed myself the bliss of self denial, and pretended we’d remain what we always had been.
That was the last time I saw you. Four months ago, nearly to the day. You never found a way, and have turned your back on your love for me to try and keep together this family you have made, and I don’t blame you.
I don’t blame you.
After all, they always say you hurt the ones you love most, and I’ve been bleeding steadily.
“Go, go, go.. anisa and joe”