if this was desire then...

She imagined love where there was no love. She put on their clothes and had imaginary conversations with them when they weren’t around - often in public, on the bus where there were people. When she said she loved you, it was a noose, loose around the neck. And when she left you barely noticed. She conjured faith where there was no belief, truth in spite of distance, transcended make-believe, rebuked cold, hard evidence. Every morning was an emergency and she frequently was heard saying, “I’m really not like that,” over and over and over again. Her mistakes were like fire and her defenses, outdated. I can’t remember a time when she really ever learned her lessons. She operated from inside a fantasy and was forever getting attached to the outcome. He humiliated her with his indifference, his gray areas. She felt shame older than twice her age. She needed bookends to match the middle; hold her as if it mattered.