How can I accept that she wanted little more than sex? It couldn’t be true, yet here I was, under her, watching as she moved about. But she didn’t want to be. She did it for me, out of some motivation and thought in her head, she allowed me to do as I pleased. And she told me she wanted to be friends. We were never supposed to see each other again. But we did. And there were no more laughs. Only a cold silence as I leaned against the kitchen counter and she washed the dishes. We passed four hours in this cruel silence, yet it seems as if both of us wanted to talk, wanted to scream to the other, don’t you understand? Nothing. It was time for me to leave. She helped me to the door and we hugged weakly. I imaged her thoughts pillaging the last of the fond memories we had with each other. But I couldn’t see it. Instead I found a gentle warmth, almost regret, that perhaps if the situation were different, we would have been okay. I looked at her and found sadness. We were just animals, both looking out for ourselves, clawing away at each other, never coming too close; yet we were also human, both looking out for each other, offering our sympathies and sharing in our crazed existence. We were going to be alright. And she knew it too.
Link to poem version.