People used to ask me why I didn't leave.
Why when we fought so much, and carried on like children sometimes
When you said ugly things and I did ugly things
And we looked at each other and it was like pressing on a bruise to see if it still hurt.
I don't answer.
I tell a joke.
I make something up.
I lie.
I don't tell them, because they don't really want to know.
They just want more gory details. More secrets.
But I save the best secrets only for myself.
So I don't tell them that there is magic in you.
That your rib cage seems to hold it like the gilded cage of ravens, and your eyes seems colored with it.
I don't tell them that I stayed
Because there was something in you
That I was afraid I'd never find in anyone else.
And I knew then
Like I know now
I was right.
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