Blame the checkbook, the affair, the bottled up tears. Blame the toast going stale the day after the wedding. We rip the letter off the keyboard instead of control, command, escape, delete. Say it was the turbulence of long distance instead of the baggage unclaimed. But at the carousel of clarity (otherwise known as fifteen years of therapy), I see I wasn’t running from the war back then. I was running from the peace. The love I did not believe I was worth. And because that lie held so much grief, I don’t know that I ever got over you as much as I got under the engine of myself to fix the
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