I loved him even though I should have known better.
I should have known because he told me from the outset.
Told me he was damaged beyond repair.
He laughed about it.
I should have known because the writing was on the wall that he pinned me against.
I should have known.
I should be able to let go.
But I lie here with our daughter’s small warm feet nestled against my own
and my head fit to implode
at his remembrance
and the magnitude of the warped reality
that my mind can’t quite hold