Not because I will be cruel to you (know that I would die all the little deaths that come your way, pressing them to my chest like stolen letters, inhaling the pain to spare you discomfort) but because
I will be cruel to myself
And you will have to watch.
So like a ballroom: my lying assurances
my love, you will have to pull me off the bathroom floor.
I looked bewildered at my agony
And knew only what I was afraid to lose.
You will hold me and I will apologize again
And again, and again. You kiss my apologies on the forehead
And send them kindly on their way.
Because I have made it that way. But
I squeeze your hand in the parking lot
And know that difficulty is nothing, nothing, nothing
Nothing to a adoring soul.