As I watch you, walk around the house, I feel your secrets, weighing heavy on your heart, drowning your spirit and creating distance between us and I have done nothing wrong. I love you day in and day out, searching my own heart to find the right words to give you comfort enough to speak, while praying for comfort to embrace me when the truth hits my soul like a ton of bricks.
We talk as if nothing has happen; we touch from habit; we are polite to each other like we were taught to do. We respect each other’s space and fit to each other like hand to a glove. I watch you constantly try to hide that secret and the harder you try to protect that secret, the less strength you use to protect what we have.
You forget that I’ve been with you long enough to know when or if there is a change in your touch, your kiss, the way you walk, how you sleep and how you make love to me. I know, and yet I don’t know. Honesty is love. Which will matter the most? Love in honesty and truth or the grounds of stability and fruitfulness.
I wish that I could promise that I won’t leave you, if you choose to be honest with me. I can’t promise you that I’ll stay and live as I have forgiven and forgotten. But I can promise you that the truth is always better than a festering lie.