Ambivalence

She knew that the feelings she had
Were not love.
She knew that the anger she had inside
For him,
For his veering between
Ambivalence and outbursts of
Sudden, almost desperate longing,
Were not hate.
She was not ambivalent about him,
And she did not long for him out of
Desperation, but
She wanted him.
She wanted his fingers on her skin and
She wanted his mouth on her mouth and
She wanted his hands and his arms and his body
Around hers.

Yet she knew that what she really wanted
Was to be wanted by him, for him to want her,
Not only occasionally, in the
Middle of the darkest part of the loneliest nights when
He felt needy and afraid, but
In the middle of a Saturday afternoon, when
The sun was soft in the sky and the air would
Lightly ruffle the leaves on the full branches of the trees.
She wanted him to want her then, but
He did not.
He did not think about her then, and
He did not realize that she thought about him
At all.

It had never occurred to him.

She remembered someone telling her once that
Love and hate were really not such different emotions,
But were in fact very close together.
Almost the same feeling.
You could confuse love and hate,
And your love could spill into hate
And back again
If you were not careful.

Yet she knew that she did not love him,
And that she did not hate him.
She knew that she was capable of loving him,
If circumstances changed, if he could suddenly
See her as more than a
Crutch or a feather and
Turn his mind to her and
His heart to her, but
She also knew that
This was unlikely and
She knew that wanting him would
Never be enough to make her love him,
And would never drive her to
Hate him.