He came every night. And left with the dawn His dewy footprints dancing across the lawn His heart shadowed from her grasp.
For years, she let him come Unable to turn him away Every night, she watched him go And every night, she’d force a smile and turn away
He had a life, He had a wife He shouldn’t have wanted her But he did. And he had her.
She stayed away from the others Kept the secret from her brothers Secretly she bore the burden Secretly she trusted that he would one day become hers
Sliver eyes glitter down at her Startled brown eyes stared back “Stay. Stay with me.” She’d whisper as he pulled away. “I have a life, woman.” He’d growl back before sliding from the bed
One burden turned miracle Another yet to come She told him, hoping for happiness And in return got the order to destroy it
On that final night, as he left, She slipped from the still warm bed And down to the kitchen There, she drew open a drawer, ignoring the voices in her head
Clutching her razor sharp Salvation, She stumbled back to her room. With a shaky hand, she withdrew a piece of parchment and quill, writing a small note to Him and her brothers
She folded it carefully, lay back in bed and pulled the blade across her wrist She watched as the crimson proof of her actions welled to the surface Her head grew light, the room grew dark, And with her last, dying breath, she cried out his name
He slipped up the walk the next morning, Into the house he crept He called her name softly, became angry when he received no answer She had always been there, where was she tonight? Was she with another?
Slowly, he climbed the stairs, Still calling for the one he used Reaching her room, he pushed open the door and stifled a horrified gasp His mind told him to believe, yet his heart refused
As he stared at the lifeless form of her, He spied the note and lifted it carefully Silver eyes read it slowly Shaking hands dropped it to the stained carpet
He turned and fled without another thought Down the stairs, out the door Across the grass he flew, Fleeing from something he’d rather not
As he ran, a small piece of parchment flitted across the floor It slipped beneath a desk, never to be read again Except by the waiting mouths of rats and mice Forever the door was closed,
And the note said this:
I’ve given up. No longer can I know that to anyone but me your heart is open I’ve carried one burden, I now carry a second The shame is enough. The shame of loving a man who cannot love Never will I forgive myself for trusting you as I did.