Love, Me

Those words

Those words I was fool enough to believe

Love, Me

A farewell at the close of a letter

In your too-precise handwriting

Too methodical to contain any genuine love

Too narcissistic

I kept those words

Literally

I tore them from the bottom of the page

Of that old love letter

Full of your proclamations

And promises

That I finally saw as icy

Empty

Fake

I threw the rest of that letter

In the garbage

With the ruins of our relationship

And what remained of my innocence

But that ripped little bit, I kept

And I pasted it to a page in my journal

Next to it, I pasted a cut-out

From an art magazine

It was a photo of a painting

I had never seen before

The Kiss by Gustav Klimt

The painting that would help remind me

The painting that was us

At first glance it looks like two lovers

In a gentle embrace

I used to think that

But I was naive then

Now I look at it and I see us

I see you wrapping me

In a heavy blanket of gold

Not to warm me

But to conceal me

I see you holding me

In your arms

Not to embrace me

But to restrain me

I see you forcing my face toward you

For a kiss you did not earn

I see me, stiff and unresponsive

To your controlling advances

I even see us in the features

Her light skin, reddish hair

Him dark-haired, olive skinned

Our very ancestries appear on this canvas

The mannerisms even starkly similar

I devoted that page in my journal

To that little collage

Not because I continued

To believe the words you wrote

The very opposite

I kept them to remind me

That actions speak louder than words

You fed me pretty words every day

Like hush money to silence me

So I would not speak

Of your painful blows

Your hurtful words

Your abuse

That was nearly ten years ago now

Since I made that little collage

At the time when I made it

I thought I would need it

To take it out and remind myself

Of what a silly little girl I once was

Of the mistake I made in trusting you

And what lesson I learned at its making

But that journal

And that one vital page

Containing the empty word

Proclaiming false love

And the painting that reminded me of us

Is lost to me now

Shoved away in some dusty, forgotten box

Probably at the back of some closet

Out of sight, out of mind

In the home I now share

With one who truly loves me

And never thinks to harm me

As you once did

But I don't need that journal

To remind me

I see that one page as clearly as ever

In my memories

Because I promised myself

I would never forget

And I don't

I remember that little scrap of paper

With your too-precise handwriting

Proclaiming love that you did not possess

I remember every detail of the painting

That seemed to eerily depict us

But mostly I remember

The way you lied to me

The way you controlled me

The way you struck me

The way you took away

The only thing I ever really loved

I remember

I need to remember

So I never make the mistake

Of trusting a word

That an action does not reflect