For you, For me

When loving me became for you and not for me
we crossed the threshold into the not-knowing, the not-understanding
or feeling each other - blindly, we traced fingertips
across brick walls blocking our view from one another's faces.
Those walls had been in place for days, perhaps weeks,
and even though every now and then we'd find the chink
through which to look or place our fingers, to touch one another
and see one another clearly,
I saw that on that day, as I lie sick in bed beneath you,
that I truly was beneath you, beneath the wall you'd built,
the tower you had built up above me to defend yourself
and protect your heart from what you thought was my
encroaching demolition of your soul and spirit.
Amazed, I felt, that I had done nothing but withered away
in your bed, and then was faced with the truth that you
were only watching me and waiting for me to stumble
so that you could leave and not feel guilty. Amazed,
knowing that then I needed you most, but the mortar was
already drying on your castle, and the moat was filling fast.
When loving me became for you and not for me,
I crossed a threshold of greater understanding, flailing in the moat
on the other side of the wall you built, trying to hold on
and not sure why you wouldn't hold me back. Watching you
creak and moan with the wind up in your tower,
not sure if you built it out of self-defense, or if you truly
didn't love me and had built those walls to house the heart
of someone else who entered while I was there,
sick in bed, not looking, but so, so trusting.
When loving me became for you and not for me,
I became all for you, and you were none for me,
and we became you and I, and then you and he,
and only I, alone.