My friend asked, his face etched with worry.
I said: “I do not have love for her anymore,
but that does not mean I hate her.
She is my son’s mother.
She gave me my son!”
“The one who broke your heart?” he pressed.
I answered:
“I have no hate of any sort.
In truth, I owe her.
Because of her, I found my voice.
My words finally found me.
She did not break my heart;
She broke the dam that held me hostage,
A prisoner of my own thoughts.
For years, I was drowning in the weight of unsaid things.
She didn’t destroy me, she released the flood of me.”
I stared into space, seeking an end to this conflicting agony, and found peace in a single thought: ‘I owe her a book.’
My friend sighed:
“You can’t just say ‘no’ like a normal person, can you?”