The days of my dependence on you,
Ended with August.
No longer were you a playground marriage,
Or a tattered note or an artsy black and white photograph.
Just as you had ceased to be the blush to a cheek that had been newly kissed,
The trading of shy glances from across a room and the hands that placed a cologne-starched sweatshirt over her delicate shoulders.

In that sense, I must speak truthfully,
I do miss your simplicity.

While, just as well,
You have grown years past being that final sarcastic remark,
The jealous discomfort that lead to an end, or the useless shouts into the receiver.
No, you are not perfect, I’d hate for you to be, in fact.
Although you are becoming more resilient now, more accepting.

In that sense, I must speak truthfully
I am intrigued by your complexity.

In spite of what you have been, and what I have needed you for,
You are not the same to me now.
You have transformed into a silence marked by his amazement of her understanding, an unspoken loyalty and shared appreciation of honesty.
You are the skin that rests delicately against hers for the first time and the trust in her that she is there to stay.

In that sense, I must speak truthfully
I am enveloped by your reality.