There were the things I knew about you and the things I knew that you had done, they coincided briefly and smashing for a moment. An iron's strike against my flint. Your love was no mystery, only the whims of your desire. They sought safety in the cradle of sycophants while my arms remained crossed. I may never know the breadth of their grasp. Did you give in? DId you want to? You can trust a beast in the wild more than your own neighbor. Your fear outweighed your guilt and I could only carry one.
I could have asked you when you beckoned me to the lake. I climbed into that canoe, hesitantly, not knowing if I would. If I had known how deep this body of water was, I might have gauged it better. I could have asked you in the middle of the night when you came back from the bathroom. But I didn't. What's the use of asking questions when you already know the answer?
I waited until we were back on land. We stood in leaves wearing our white coats, your arm around me, keeping the chill at bay. It was yours and my first New England autumn and I couldn't look you in the eyes when you lied to me. Your face became murky when I closed my eyes, a tunnel vision of the unknown future. I remembered what that psychic told me. 5 years. I saw myself smiling in sunlight. It was the first time I referenced that path and you weren't there. You came as often as the yellow dotted lines on the highway and I was frightened because all roads run out eventually. You either stood at the end of one or in the path of another. I waited in a roundabout, asleep in the passenger seat.