Shop Owner

I hope you knew
that the impromptu
story I told
words tumbling out of my mouth and tripping over each other
in their rush to escape
was meant to be a thank you.
Thank you, for the simple pleasures
your goods provide.
I couldn't say the words.
It would have been
too much like
admitting
the truth:

that my Demon,
whose anger paranoia fear drama ridiculousness and petty razor barbs
have driven me from every moment that has ever made me happy,
was why I was there.
That my drive has become making him
happy
as he dies slowly, the picture-perfect ending he always wanted;
as the disease eats him alive.
It would have been too much like admitting
that I am still me,
that I still love him
with that hopeless reckless childishness of a little girl
despite all he has done to
try
to break me.