I used to obsess—
it was pride.
I knew I was the best he would ever get
I thought that meant he’d wake up, treat me better
Not worse.
Each lie I absorbed through a kiss of apology.
Broken down by manipulation
Blinded to the truth
My truth was the sweet as honey version he spoon-fed me;
the aftertaste, acrid.
I only remembered its distaste once we kissed reality away
again
and again.
