Marta Owczarek - Not Even a Lover

You don’t trust me anymore, you choose the other room,
The other bed, and the other book,
Not the one I put on your side of our bed.
You don’t tell me where you’re going and why,
Mostly, you stare out the window.
Like a guilty child, I know I’ve misbehaved
I walk very quietly now.
I didn’t use to have to, back in the days of the gardens,
Back in the days of the sands.
Now you show me Central Park, the statue of Duke Ellington,
The frozen lake, the little house on the island,
And ask me why I’m crying,
But I’m scared of you, the words stop at the front teeth,
Form general statements that I maniacally address to myself,
And I can only ridicule, not even apologize or explain.
That night, why did I not sleep in our room?
Did you tell me not to? I don’t remember, I was not there.
I woke up and the bed was made, the apartment clean and empty,
I was shaking, where were you?
I got so used to seeing you every morning I forgot what it was to be alone.
Please forgive me my faults,
And don’t keep me at a distance.
I’m hopeless at loving again,
And you’re not even my lover,
Even though I feel proud walking next to you.
But when you sit in the kitchen at night and draw,
I drown under the covers,
Waiting for you in the dark,
Hearing the pencil scratch
Because of something rotten inside me.
You’re not even my lover,
But I still miss you in bed.