He said it was years after the fact—
years after he walked away
before he realized it was the right thing to do.
He spent years waiting for her to leave him—
He waited years for her to become his.
She went so far as to make promises on paper.
Promises he thought would be proof, one day,
that she loved him back—
that she wanted the rest of her life
synchronized with his.
always there was something blistering
graduations, first loves, a driver’s license,
a new car, a job hunt, motherly responsibilities—
all these events that accumulated
into an ongoing delay.
Even her beauty became tiresome.
He found himself not-quite-in-love-as-he-once-was.
And he began to breakdown, he said,
comparing it to the way one sip of tequila
leads to another.
And all of a sudden
he was incapable of moving—
and he said he realized it had been a while
since he felt drunk on her.
He’d been so long in the hangover—
and all he wanted to do
was get clean and put that bottle out-of-reach
on the highest shelf.