On our first date

I told you I’d dated

two before you.


The first, Liza

was blonde, stern

but held stories

in her eyes, yours, mine

and every fortnight

we sat before her fireplace.

I often cried and she held me

at arms length,

preferring emails

to the confines of a room;

room I took up with my mess.

My unopened boxes,

my sellotape bandaged boxes,

my squished boxes.

With time we grew distant,

the tears stopped

and she had conversations

with my inbox.


The second, Mary,

we never met.

She knew I had a lonely heart

so we talked;

about grief and change

whilst I watched birds

flutter and settle in trees

across the street,

her dulcet tones

soothing my sorrow.

We talked about blessings

and curses, what it means

to grow.

We never met, but I loved her;

for the time she spent,

an hour in my car

talking me down

and keeping me sane,

safe enough to drive again,

to make it home.

I suppose I’ll always regret

letting her go.


You didn’t seem to mind

you weren’t my first,

in fact, I’m sure in your smile

and my sweaty palms,

we both already knew

you wouldn’t be my last.


Β© Kristiana Reed 2018

Image: google

44 thoughts on “Therapy

  1. MurderTrampBirthday says:

    Oh my word! This is… one of the most astonishing pieces I’ve read this year. Honestly. It’s so brilliantly constructed and with a lot of heart. Would you mind if I wrote a sort of spin-off inspired by this, drawn from my own experiences? Crediting you for the original idea of course :3

    Liked by 3 people

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s