they ran down my spine,
like drops of water of the purest river.
And you lied, just like your words, smooth.
Rolled off your tongue like gems,
your stories were like your children;
Nourished and well - maintained.
But just like your lies, I didn't know about your kin.
Or the flowers you get your significant other,
every Monday evening;
White, sometimes yellow, always 11.
Because although you bought as many as the hours on a clock,
you gave me one and her the rest.
I didn't know about your sister,
yes, the one you said didn't exist.
Until she came to my workplace,
looking for me by the name you call me secretly.
She showed me pictures and told me the truth,
made me realise how wrong I was.
I'd been bathing in your impure words,
breathing the smell of flowers I shouldn't have received,
the ones I didn't deserve;
While now, a woman much older to me is questioning you,
"Are you cheating on me?".
I felt like a bee;
one who intakes whatever the flowers have to offer,
most of all though, appreciating.
I appreciated the love you sprinkled onto me,
was grateful for that weekly show of symbolic affection you brought to my apartment for me, sometimes white, sometimes yellow;
I was content with the 2 nights a week you spent with me,
while your wife thought you were away at work, and not with me.
The first word I hear from you,
it's 3 weeks later.
Even a "sorry" from your mouth stabs my back,
like a sharp rock from your impure puddles of lies and betrayal.
You go on to tell me the truth,
the drops, (as big as alligator tears) of your puddle
that your sister didn't drop on me, like bombs.
"You deserve the truth."
Didn't I always?
Didn't I, from the beginning?
You tell me you're 17 years older than what you told me,
and that expensive trips to the salon and daily exercise have helped you achieve and maintain "the look".
You sound convincing again.
I have to stop myself,
from saying those three words we exchanged so frequently.
I regret it.
I had to remind myself that you lied,
and made me into a fool
left your wife sobbing
in your chlorified, purified, backyard pool
and WORDS were rocks and not water drops
and that your kids and sister existed;
- to tell myself that I now hate you.
- Ragini Zutshi Anand