I wrote this poem after watching the movie, He's Not That Into You. Who knows where the brain goes to retrieve and rearrange details.
I found the journal he had written
before we were wed
read a few lines and knew
he hadn’t told me the truth
when he said I was his first love.
I looked away, it wasn’t my business,
yet drawn back to his words
written in bold caps
telling about a love interest
when he was twenty-five.
Her name was Sara,
blond and petite,
a friend from high school.
I went to the garage dug through old boxes,
found his year books and there was Sara,
a black and white shot from her senior year,
her hair piled high, her eyes probably blue.
I kept searching for details, Sara in French Club
and here both were in Theater together.
She was pretty enough but worked on stage crew
he on the other hand, was the star of the show.
Some stories I knew but he never bothered to tell,
except here in his journal, about
an accidental meeting on the city streets.
She was married but unhappy,
it lasted for a little while
until he met me, but why did he keep
this journal with all these entries?