I set boundaries for myself--physical boundaries, emotional boundaries. I make you work to let you in--and I will not waver.

Will not waver for your sweet words of love and affection

that disappear with the word no--no or not now or I need time or I need to think

About us.

About tomorrow.

About right.

About wrong.

Because I know that if your words are more than words, then time is of little importance in the grand stage of our lives. Time is important in the final act of us, however--

When the space between our bodies slips away--and I can feel each grain of sand slip back into a vast ocean we never visited, and I can feel the rhythmic pound of my heart




That's what I felt when you decided I wasn't worth the wait--and I decided you played yourself because I am.

I am worth it.

I remember our last moments when I insisted I look into your eyes, run my fingers through your hair, to remember what it's like to be with you.

You said, "Of course, I'll see you again."

"That's what they all say, that they'll be back once again," I said.

Again, you insisted: "I promise you that's not true."

And yet with a kiss you had disappeared. I almost wish I hadn't been right so I could knock some sense into you--but that wouldn't have done any good, right?

Curled up in bed the next day, I had many thoughts. I felt like an animated corpse with the slightest shock of life still coursing within her.

I felt as if all the color had been drained out of me, and that I was a shadow of the woman who could tend to all of the needs of her man.

I don't want to be that woman. I hate that woman. I hate that I'm supposed to be her in order to feel loved. I hate that you left because I wasn't her.

This wasn't about me, but then it was.

Then I started to feel different: I had never felt more alive, more of a woman, than when you tried to convince me I wasn't enough for you.

I am enough.

I am enough.

I am enough.

I am enough.

I am enough.