Dear You, That Wasn’t Dinner… That Was My Heart

My idea of love since time immemorial; since I opened up enough to believe it really, truly exists has been that you and I would trust each other completely, that we would eat cereal out of one bowl, that we would share the last chunk of chocolate cake, that we wouldn’t forgive ourselves for not thinking about each other.

But one day, you came home…after days, after weeks.. You looked like the emblem of shit, like you had been starved, like you had no energy to take another step, you looked like you hadn’t any friend who lived close to where you had been. I heard you coming, way before you turned the door knob, I smiled and hugged you as you struggled to walk in.

In my heart, tears had consumed me, pain had raided every corner, I couldn’t stand watching you look this hurt. So I pulled the dinning seat for you, set the table and kissed you on the forehead then I went into our kitchen to do what we had always done together. There was nothing to cook but I knew you knew I couldn’t let you starve. I wept as I cut my heart open and placed it in our largest pot. In no time, dinner was ready.

I fought to stay alive while I served you.

I knew life would only last a while. But I made you believe I was fine. I saw the way you had all of dinner, how you ate your plate clean, how you didn’t care to ask me to join you, Tears welled up in me. This wasn’t you, this wasn’t the man who ate with me, who did everything with me. Where had he been??

With the little life left in me….I stuttered, till I finally asked, “have you been with another?” He looked at me, and then tears clouded his eyes. What more did I need him to say…. I had few more seconds to live so I kissed him deeply crying while I said it…. “That wasn’t dinner…..that was my heart”