Dear April-man,

 

Do you know

Why

April is the cruelest month?

I do.

Because it is when you took me

In your arms

In your bed

And I let you.

I let you.

The conditions of our agreement

Were never

Written outright.

But perhaps they should have been.

I wish I could have had your intentions in writing,

A big red warning sign

Screaming out “Danger!

Heartbreak ahead.”

There was a cliff before me

With sharp rocks at the bottom.

If I’d seen it on paper

Maybe I wouldn’t have

Jumped off.

It’s my fault of course,

Most things are.

I did jump, after all.

I believed that

When you taught me how to drive a stick shift

And held my hand on long drives

And cooked spaghetti and meatballs,

My favorite food,

And laid me down on your soft gray comforter

And kissed me

And held me

That was “I love you.”

But it wasn’t.

It almost was,

But it wasn’t.

I should have been sure, should have

Waited

Until you were sure

That you loved me.

I was sure.

So sure that I let you have my heart without question

My body along with it.

I was sure I loved you.

Everything is tainted with truth now.

I did not know that April

Was the cruelest month

Until it wasn’t April

Anymore.

 

Sincerely,

Miss Understanding