I get it.
I cannot help
but see.
I never had a doubt.
It didn’t cross my mind,
to consider that
your broken
looking glass had
in any fashion,
even a little,
shattered
because of
anything to do with
me.
Why would I think it so?
why, though,
I cannot help
but wonder,
is it so compelling
for you
again and again
to slice through this,
with the shards of
what lay broken,
to convince me of this?
I am not blind,
nor am I transfixed,
staring at some broken mirror
that reflects back
only me.
My vision is clear enough
that I cannot help
but see,
that what
slivered,
splintered,
shattered,
broke
was only
and completely about
you.
But I get it,
I also cannot help but see
that though
what broke
was inside only you,
when you were cut wide
and bleeding,
you turned your back,
you went alone,
you ran away,
in spite of,
without regard for,
and instead of to
me.
~ cj 2012.12.28
