Over the salad bowl he asks me,
“How have you been?”
I am too used to the lies
to start unraveling the truth
“Fine.”
We smile
It is only later,
when the aching gets too loud
inside of me,
that my mask begins to slip
The flowered paper,
so delicate,
is crumbling.
“What’s wrong?”
Please do not ask me
But it is too late
The walls inside of me are flooding
Things that I have hidden,
even from myself,
come washing over me
drowning me in truth
“Ellie ...”
But I am feeling too much
I am tangled in anger
and questions
and the lonely ache
of holding it all inside
for so long
I am sharply aware
of swirling kaleidoscope memories
and of his eyes
I am spilling open
My mask lies torn and smiling
at my feet
as I cry