She still thinks about him,
now and then
even though it was so long ago.
She thinks of his touches
and his whispers.
“I love you,” he said to her.
“God, I love you.”
And she still shivers,
as if ice cubes were
sliding down her back.
What a beautiful lie,
so beautiful,
it inspired her to give
a gift
she could give no other.

Perhaps it was wrongly spent,
but how could she have known that then,
when she was no more
than a rose about to bloom,
a jewel just beginning to shine.

How different it would have been,
she thinks,
if some dreams had come true.
She would have followed him
blindly
anywhere,
if he had allowed it.
She would have given him
her hand,
for he already had
her body and soul.
She would have stayed by his side,
whether the lie was true
or not,
depending on him
as if he were her breath of life,
following him everywhere,
no more than a meek and submissive
shadow.

It seems strange to her now,
that she would have been content
with that
as her life.
That she who is now bitterly independent,
to save her heart from breaking again,
once wanted
a partner,
a guide,
a master
so badly that she’d have given
her life for it.

And she wonders again,
looking back,
what it is she should feel,
wonders if she should hate him
for dropping her dreams and
indifferently watching them shatter,
or thank him
for forcing her to find
the strength to stand alone.