At first, it’s a little wilting: Shucks. Never mind. You’re busy.
But – soon - disappointment has rooted. Deep.
Undermining with its bitter, bilious, ‘why doesn’t he care?’.
Like breaching satsuma skin to find desiccation and mould.
Disappointment infected when my good days went uncheered, my ‘guess what’s? met shrugs, and each tiny heartbreak stayed unhugged.
Don’t claim you didn’t know, I didn’t say. You should have, that’s the point.
If you really loved me, you’d know, and disappointment would just be raffle tickets in the bin.
We signed a contract with our sighs:
I loved you; there was small print.
After Brene Brown’s Atlas of The Heart. Apparently, people can typically only recognise and feel three emotions - happy, sad and angry. In her continued exploration of the human condition Brown set about mapping human emotions and came up with 87. I’m attempting to identify with each one in burps of 100 words.
Loved the satsuma reference. That is very real disappointment in my mind. Also furry apples when you take the first bite, and unjuicy peaches.