on being replaced.

As many times as you reassured me –

“You are special. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

– now, there is that little nagging, that knowledge

that this was another hook in my side you used to reel me in.

Oblivious to this manipulation, I was

caught off-guard, daring to trust, reassured by

the golden presence of your support, your desire to see inside. Then,

when I stumblytripped, you strode on,

that cocky half-smile carrying you off. I, confused,

 – and frankly, pretty scared –

staggered in some other direction,

the flimsy bridge made of twine still hooked in my side

slowly rotting and tearing free.

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