How she loved me and left

As I write these words,
I still feel the need to protect her.

Protect her from my embittered heart
that urges me to not leave anything out.

But that same heart does not bear the pain,
her pain.

It convinces me to play hide and seek with words,
to use euphemisms, talk in a roundabout way
about the pain,
my pain.

So, I write about sand castles on a faraway island,
and a witnessing Andromeda even further away,
about a king amongst beggars,
and hoping for a less bitter tomorrow.

I have written all these opaque words,
so I do not have to tell the straightforward truth:
how she loved me and left,
like closing an unsatisfactory book,
starting a new life,
without me.

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