Once I was at the end of the love song
crying for years because it was over
before it even began. We were caught
loving the wrong person. I immersed
from my drowning and swam to the
beginning of the line. I sailed across
your poems and floated on your words.
You sent them to me by mail, on out-
dated postcards, you wrote them on
the back of my hand with your
fingertips. I sent you magic and
illusions with one needle on your
arm. We lived in a movie and
recited Shakespeare naked in bed.
You were not even close to being
who I thought you were. I was
too much for you to handle back
then, wanting to do everything
and doing absolutely nothing
about it. I climbed Mont-Royal
in heels and you laughed at
my absurdities. I was spontaneous
and explosive, until I wasn’t anymore.
I bent backwards on words
and the power of your hands.
Now I’m in the middle of something
that will change me forever.
I will never bet that girl again.
I have to be someone I thought
I would never be. Life throws you
these wicked curveballs
and I am catching them,
ready to be stuck here
hoping that it will not get
worse. All this hope
for songwriters and poets
but for a regular woman like me
it’s a waste of my time.