I

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believed,

and that was the first
and only
mistake
choice

I

needed to
make.

You

ask me
if there is a God-
(-dess)
and a tear escapes my
eye
at the question,
its salt sting streaking
my face
wet
with mourning,
as I grieve
(in silence)
the knowledge
(now lost)
that
once upon a time,
not so very long ago,

I

was

Yours.

“We are our choices,”
wrote
Jean Paul
Sartre.

You

have, from
the moment
we met,
always been

Mine.

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