She sat there,
Staring through the smoke of her cigarette.
And she thinks,
I loathe you.
I love you.
Don’t ever come back.
Please come home.
A painful soliloquy she recites.
An arduous cycle to fall into.
To want to be wanted this way.
To keep lighting a flame already smothered.
To breathe warm air onto cold,
How vain and trivial.
She needs this.
This vicious cycle,
That solemn recital,
A dance she’s learned over and over.
But she struggles,
With this second hand choreography.
Dancing from do to don’t,
from praise to blame.
Second guessing a second guess.
one day she’ll figure it out.
She’ll figure out every step, turn, and pause.
In time, she will stop holding onto missteps she already took.
She’ll focus on the steps ahead.
At the next recital, she won’t dance between do and don’t-
Loathe or love,
step or pause.
This was just practice.