“The Right Words” Fiction. Based on a true almost affair.

“You taught me a secret language you know I can’t speak with anyone else.” – Taylor Swift, “Illicit Affairs.”

“The Right Words”

Fiction. Based on a true almost affair.

by Amanda Springob

This journal entry is inspired by true events. Some of the characters, names, businesses, incidents, and certain locations and events have been fictionalized for dramatic purposes. Any similarity to the name, character or history of any person is entirely coincidental and unintentional.

Trigger Warning: our program often motivates people to discuss their trauma. If you find yourself feeling overwhelmed, please, take a step back to address emotional flashbacks and trauma before continuing to push yourself. If you are experiencing a medical emergency, call 911 or the National Suicide Hotline at (1-800) 273-8255.

Dear Cale,

If there’s anything left to say,
I don’t know how to say it.
Some conversations are unspeakable,
but your body still displayed it.

I heard the clenching in your fists,
as you leaned against the door,
and you listened to my eyes
as they stared at the floor.

This was a game we played so well,
no one knows the answers now.
So we sit with only loose definitions,
clues to what, why, and how.

What is an “affair,” anyway?
The movies make it definite.
Two broken people breaking rules
hopelessly lost once they begin it.

We weren’t as illicit in our practices.
We left little evidence to be found;
sentiments shared while fully clothed,
cuddles we can’t tell anyone about.

It wasn’t cheating, of that you’re sure,
as you reason with distress.
You say we’re exes plus a little extra,
not a Mr. and mistress.

But what will we be when the vows are said?
To be “friends” feels apathetic.
I’ve seen things she’s never witnessed.
You’ve heard me when I’m unpoetic.

This wasn’t “love,” and I’m not “mad.”
“Sorry” doesn’t quite contain it.
And all the words in every language
Don’t hold the right words to explain it.

Maybe if we had more time
And ears willing to listen
We could’ve united our puzzle pieces
And found our definition.

But since you closed my apartment door
Leaving questions scattered everywhere
I’ve been waiting for the day when we meet again,
And hope the right words will meet me there.

Eternally Not Yours,
Bette

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