a poem

I subscribe to Writer's Almanac, an online publication of Minnesota Public Radio (I think). It's a daily publication with poems and interesting events like the birthdays and lives of semi-celebrities, usually authors. In one of these I read a poem that almost nails what I feel now when I look at Dave (or rather when he looks at me).

My apologies to any copyrights I'm most likely infringing on.
Please don't sue me.



Anger

I killed the bee for no reason except that it was there and you were
watching, disapproving,
which made what I would do much worse but I was angry with
you anyway and so I put my foot on it,
leaned on it, tested how much I'd need to make that resilient,
resisting cartridge give way
and crack! abruptly, shockingly it did give way and you turned
sharply and sharply now
I felt myself balanced in your eyes—why should I feel myself so
balanced always in your eyes;
isn't just this half the reason for my rage, these tendencies of
yours, susceptibilities of mine?—
and "Why?" your eyes said, "Why?" and even as mine sent back my
answer, "None of your affair,"
I knew that I was being once again, twice now, weighed, and this
time anyway found wanting.

– C.K. Williams




If 'bee' is replaced with 'friendship' it all fits so well. Especially those last two lines.

' "Why?" your eyes said, "Why?" '
' I knew that I was being once again, twice now, weighed, and this
          time anyway found wanting. '

Every time Dave sees me now he's probably wondering why, why I did what I did (not just the collecting but also why I had to tell him). You know, I've been wondering the same thing.

Dave, I don't want to be found wanting in your estimation of me.