Four years.
That's how long we lasted.
We laughed together,
we lied to each other,
we lived, here in this house,
together.

That first month,
when we were giddy and young,
he bought that loveseat.
It was ugly beige,
but every time I saw it, I smiled.
Just enough room for two,
just me and you.

The first year ended,
the second began.
I knew there was another.
I turned my face away
and pretended not to see.
But I did.
I saw that she was younger,
prettier, all curves and smiles.

She hung in the air
when we spoke,
what we didn't say
speaking so much louder
than what we did.

And after her came another,
even younger, even prettier.
I was the shabby old wife,
the ugly brown loveseat
waiting at home
when he was gone.

We fell apart.
There was no laughter,
and every word he spoke to me
was a lie.
I bit back tears when he left,
saying he had a client,
an appointment.
The loveseat sat unused,
for what love was to found?


After four years drew to a close,
he told me.
He told me that he had loved me,
once, long ago,
but that he was leaving.
He told me he had been lying.
He told me how hard this was for him.
He told me he didn't want to do this.

I laughed, short and bitter.
I told him to take his things and leave,
to go back to her house,
seeing as he spent most of his time
with her, anyways.
I told him that I had loved him
all this time,
these four long years.

And so he left,
and my heart left too.
The loveseat sat in the corner.
I slept curled in it every night,
silent tears pouring down my face.
He never came back,
he never called.
I let go of my hopes.

I only saw him once after.
When I sat alone in the park
I saw him,
holding hands with her,
the rings flashing on their hands,
the little girl sitting
upon his shoulders,
unmistakably his child.

That day, I wrote an ad,
saying the loveseat was free,
that I would give it to anyone
who came on time,
that I didn't want it for ten minutes
more than I had to.
I was sick of its color, its memories.

A man came one day.
Said his name was Jimmy.
Said he saw my ad,
said he wanted the loveseat.
I helped him put it in his truck.
I saw him surveying me,
watching as I bent and turned.
He drove away, and I cried.

Jimmy came back again,
and again, and again.
I knew he was married,
but I knew his need.
I became the other woman,
the person I had despised
for nearly ten years.

We sat together,
upon the beige loveseat,
now in his living room.
It looked better
in their house.
I saw his wife once.
Her eyes were dead,
the life, the love, gone.

I never loved Jimmy,
I never wanted to love him.
He knew this,
he knew his wife loved him,
he knew nothing good
could ever come
of this betrayal of his vows.
And when a prettier girl came along,
I was forgotten.

Years passed, and one day
I fell in love with a grey-bearded man
He brought his armchair with him,
hiding the emptiness
the beige loveseat had left,
and the laughter and lies
began anew.