It is written
The Truth Will Set You Free
And Tonight The Truth Set Her Free.
And I am Armor Plated--But is She?

Hear the phone ring. Pick it up. It is her.
A delightful surprise. A casual conversation. The meat and drink of humans. Information and innuendo and compliments and advice and laughter and flirtation and flattery and then--
The Truth rears its ugly head.

"I did mention I was leaving Connecticut this Fall...didn't I?"

No.
Apparently Not.
Whoops. Thought I did. No. Ouch.

Her tone turns brittle
Like the beautiful, fragile vase
That is her soul.
I pray she is Armor Plated.

Understanding streams out through the phone,
compliance/agreement/honesty...but inevitably:
"I can't see you any more."
And I understand perfectly
Honesty being the best policy
Better Now Than Later
Better Late Than Never
Whatever
It's the right thing to do
I tell myself
As I drive a stake through the heart of Romance
Again.

The ending-conversation fumbles.
You can't say "See you around"--because you won't.
You can try, but you only eventually can say
Goodbye.

Hang up the phone.
Tell yourself Cupid shot the wrong guy.
Tell yourself it doesn't hurt
Because you're Armor Plated
As you pull another arrow out of your
Heart.

--K.K.

(Honesty really IS the best policy. It's sometimes just horribly, agonizingly painful.)