Loving you amounted
To a fool's errand.
It was one of those choices,
Early in life,
When pennance for past sins
Required subjugation, sublimination, and self-deprecation.

The bravado of youth,
Coupled with a sense of indestructability,
Does not lend to kindness in love.
And we awaken in early adulthood,
And say,
What have I done?

The next lover that comes along,
Is a beneficiary,
Rather than a companion,
And they learn to reap rewards
Not rightly theirs.

And so it was with you,
One with the awareness to identify
A contrite spirit,
And claim it as weakness,
And attempt to control it henceforth.

So under the guise of shared struggle,
We fought through the years,
Defining the sadness and contempt
As a relationship,
But it was not.

There were homes and children,
Careers, and religion,
Calamity and laughter,
And occasional lovemaking.
We told ourselves that it was a family,
And it was,
But between us, it was not love.

As I stand on a precipice,
Looking back with clarity of thought,
I no longer fear my proximity
To disaster.
I stand on the edge of the cliff
With my companion,
And a confidence,
That she would risk her life to save mine,
And would not cast me into the abyss for sport.

I guess it just goes to show
That you were a lousy love.