Down, Down, Down the Rabbit Hole

Did you want to come back home? Were you buying me coffee but thinking of them? Did your housekeys start to open their door and lock ours? When I held your hand was I just a placeholder, again? Where did you meet and how often would you kiss? How did you feel when I’d go to hug you but miss? Did you mean to ignore me, to make me question myself? Should I remove our son’s trophies and toys from his bedroom shelf? Do I need to buy packing boxes and contact a lawyer? Are they why we never finished watching the show that we started? How do they take their coffee, or do they prefer tea? Is it wrong I’ve looked at our savings, what I could afford if in court we bartered. What I’d like to know is what I did wrong and when you first felt it… a slow recognition or a match suddenly lit. If it might have been different had I realised sooner… would the fallout be less, the aftermath affect fewer. But I don’t want to know who they are, even their name – if they love you, feel guilty or don’t give a damn. I’m not interested if you prefer their smell or their laughter and their eyes. I have one question left: can you tell me, who I am?