Letter to a Golden Woman

It occurs to me that he must’ve treated you the same way he treated every other woman that unwittingly stumbled, mesmerized, and fell deep into those mischievous green eyes. The strong ones, since he loved to believe he could mold a strong woman into something of his own odd fantasy.
And you were definitely strong.
Bold, a visionary creator, your hair an ebony waterfall that cascaded down your back, past your silken caramel skin, framing luminous almond eyes that shone with resolve and joy.
Perhaps you resolved to be joyous, at least until you could figure out how to slip away from his serpentine tongue and climb out of the emeralds without being spotted. So you could get a head start, at least, before he inevitably snagged your heart again.

It occurs to me that you must have temporarily forgotten that you deserve the world. I never met you, but even I could sense that (a blind man could see it), from photographs spread over social media designed to taunt me, (how can she be so beautiful) I would think, in the weeks before I realized that I didn’t love him and that he didn’t love anyone or anything except for his reflection.
He spun sweet promises out of silk, even as his eyes wandered to bright hair and shining laughs that weren’t yours.
Your voice fills my ears, rising up and sweeping through my thoughts until all I can hear is the echoing golden melodies, notes drowning in melancholy cello crescendo flowing from your fingers, diving into the core of my being until I throw my head back and see a vision of sunlight, the ocean framed by lacy sand and palm trees, a dusty blue sky and a younger you, sitting and contemplating the waves, your sadness mirroring mine.
My heart aches seeing you this way, I want to reach out and explain what he’s done with your spirit – my shadow-self reaches out but as I’m about to place a hand on your shoulder the vision dissipates and I see my light grey walls once again, the shadows of the rain painting miniature leopard spots for a moment until they slide down to disappear into my bedspread.
He truly was exactly who he always was, we just didn’t listen until it was over. Maybe we didn’t want to hear it, his wild heart was intoxicating… but every heart stops beating in its time.

It occurs to me that we are both better off now, far away from the roar of an enticing car engine, the seemingly endless miles both separating and connecting us. “None of that matters anymore. Because I’m in love with someone else.”

Me, too. Isn’t it wonderful?

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