They tell you to dream of white dresses and white fences;
they don’t tell you what it feels like to fall asleep heated by his body
and to wake up to the click of the lock,
shivering,
alone.
They tell you to dream of men on horses;
they don’t tell you that you might be standing in the kitchen
on a cold afternoon
lost in the sound of your metal spoon stirring honey into hot tea,
that you might suddenly decide
this isn’t right.
They don’t tell you how his eyes will change
the moment you stare directly into him
and tell him you no longer love him.
They tell you to dream of shining armour;
they don’t tell you about the look that will cross his face
when he discovers how many others have devoured you
in a pile sweat and muffled moans,
countless sheet sets of grey, white, blue.
They don’t tell you how sickening it feels
to discover he’s just like
everyone else.
They tell you to dream of a breadwinner,
someone to take care of you;
they don’t tell you about the guilt
you experience
as your body f*cks another man
and your brain and heart travel home to your loved one.
They tell you to dream of ever afters;
they don’t tell you how foreign it is
to wake up next to someone you’ve known for years
and feel that you don’t know him
at all.
They tell you that boys are like streetcars,
that there is always another one coming;
they don’t tell you
how food no longer has flavour
when heartbreak takes over.
They don’t tell you
how it feels
to be numb,
alone
because of your own choosing.
They tell you that you will break hearts;
they don’t tell you
that you will play chess
with someone’s affection.
They don’t tell you
that you will prove them right.
They tell you that two halves make a whole;
they don’t tell you
that you will lay for hours,
one hand on your chest
the other on the softness of your centre,
trying to make yourself whole
without another half.
~
Author: Annabelle Blythe
Image: @awaudrey/Instagram
Editor: Nicole Cameron
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