Letters We Don’t Send

I had a dream last night, I’d asked you to the diner we always liked, French, You said yes, which surprised me, I waited for you, You snuck up behind me as the waiter was putting down my cutlery, You said you wanted to surprise me, You spoke, You spoke to me, again, You sat across from me and you looked happy to be there, I told you it had come as a shock, That you’d agreed to meet me here, That surprised you, After everything I put you through, Through all the pain that wasn’t yours, And all the patience you learnt to exercise, After all the joy you gave, To cut through my misery, You gave me colour, and flowers, and laughter, and comfort, You reminded me of my body, Of sex and passion and tenderness, Of sweat and dizziness and fire and smoulder, You let me rest my head on your shoulder, And finally sleep, Finally feel safe, again, And I still left, I was drowning, you saw it, just, You were love, and loving, and something I hadn’t known, Not properly, I kept drowning, I didn’t want to take you with me, Oh, how noble, How noble I am, To always sacrifice as though it is a favour, When I should have known best,

What you knew better,

That to allow someone their respite and honesty, In complaining and vulnerability, In tears, and snot, and ugliness, In weakness and incoherence, To give permission to be, Disgusting, Is the greatest love one can give.