A wise woman once told me that I should pay attention to a man’s actions more than his words. She said that a man does what he feels and speaks what he does not. I didn’t believe this was true. So the words of the wise woman fell heavily on deaf ears.
Time and time again I should’ve listened to her speak because the words of men led me on a path filled with bumps and bruises. A “marry me” here and a “I love you” there, were like beautiful words to a melody of a nameless song. I fell for the lure and even scorned the wise woman for thinking up such a lie.
But over time, I learned that it was the words of the men that turned in to sick fairytales. They didn’t love me at all; and most of them found it best to nestle in the bosom of their ex-lovers. Not even my marriage could escape the coldness of a liar’s den.
Confessions of heartless bastards ripped my heart in two. For once I considered that the wise woman was wise after all. So I continued my quest for love. But it wasn’t so easy.
The next man that came into my life showed me love, yet I was skeptical that it was real. Similar taunts about love plagued his past, I often wondered if the wise woman had spoken to him too. His silent feelings scared me; I felt he was running. But he lived under the motto, “It’s safer to show her but not tell her.”
Sadly, I needed his confession. I needed that reassurance and the hope that the wise woman’s words were somehow misplaced. Until he confessed, my heart remained weary and my mind was stuck in a place called the middle.
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